Milo McCoy stood before the window walls in his Beverly Shores villa, the shimmering cityscape sprawled out beneath him. His reflection in the glass stared back, a mixture of charm, chaos, and vulnerability. Tonight was the annual Beverly Shores Thanksgiving Yacht Party, a tradition he would never miss. It was not the Thanksgiving that excited him for the event but the event itself and everything it brings - socialising, mingling and drinking. He was already thankful for everything he got, he didnβt need to celebrate that and everything to him was wealth and fameβ¦ A reason why he left Ireland about ten years ago.
He adjusted his tailored white suit, the crisp white shirt beneath highlighting his skin and piercing blue eyes. Milo was always meticulous about his appearance, a habit that had been drilled into him from years in the spotlight. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, giving it that perfect disheveled look that seemed effortless but took a practiced hand. Tonight was not just another party; it was a performance, and he was the star.
Milo walked over to the mahogany bar in the corner of his vast living room. The remnants of last nightβs party were still evident - a few empty glasses, a forgotten jacket, and the lingering scent of expensive cologne and perfume. He grabbed a crystal tumbler and poured himself a generous amount of whiskey. As he took a long, slow sip, he glanced around the room, vivid flashbacks of the previous night flooding his mind. There had been laughter, music, and the clinking of glasses as friends and acquaintances filled his villa, each one more glamorous and intoxicated than the last. He remembered the jazz playing in the background, the way the lights reflected off the sequins of a guestβs dress, and the intoxicating mix of conversations and flirtations that had filled the air. It had been a night of excess, just the way Milo liked it.
The sound of tires crunching on the gravel driveway outside drew his attention. Milo watched as a sleek black limo pulled up in front of his villa, signaling it was time to leave. He finished his drink, setting the glass down with a decisive clink, and took one last look at his reflection. The man staring back at him was ready - ready to charm, ready to impress, ready to dominate.
The limo pulled up to the marina, where the yacht was docked. Paparazzi and reporters swarmed the entrance, their cameras flashing and questions flying. Milo took a deep breath, the mask of his public persona slipping into place. He stepped out of the limo, greeted by a chorus of shouts and the blinding light of cameras. The moment he got out, Milo flashed his signature grin, posing briefly for the cameras. From the outside he might look like this humble guy, politely answering all the questions heβd get but deep down he was enjoying and living for every moment of it. However, now he had no time for answering any questions, βGood evening, everyone. Just here to enjoy the party,β he replied smoothly, sidestepping the question with practiced ease.
But the reporters were persistent, their voices rising above the crowd. βMilo, can you tell us about βParallel Livesβ? Howβs it coming along?β one called out.
Milo paused, his grin widening. This was his chance to steer the narrative, to promote his latest project and let the world know he was still at the top of his game. βAhβ¦,β he began, his tone carefully measured. βItβs coming along beautifully. Cameron and I have put a lot of heart and soul into this project. Weβre really excited about the direction itβs taking and canβt wait to share the rest of it with everyone.β The mention of Cameron caused a ripple of murmurs among the reporters. βAre you and Cameron continuing to work closely together?β another reporter asked, their tone tinged with curiosity.
βAbsolutely,β Milo responded smoothly, not missing a beat. βWeβve always worked well together, and this project is no different. Weβre both committed to making βParallel Livesβ something truly special.β Satisfied with his own answers Milo simply nodded at the reporters signaling it was his time to leave and make his way onto the yacht.
Miloβs eyes scanned the crowd, searching for familiar faces. Across the room, her beauty as striking as ever, he spotted Zaraβ¦ or simply someone he for the longest time called Zoe, the name she was known for before they both left LA. Memories of their complicated past flickered through his mind. Friends since LA, his confidante, inspiration. But as his fame grew, so did the distance between them. He knew this encounter could get messy, but Milo was never one to shy away from a challenge. With a drink in hand and his charm dialed up to maximum, he made his way through the crowd toward Zoe.
βZoe,β he called out, his voice smooth and confident as he approached. βYou look absolutely stunning tonight.β He barely gave her a moment to respond before diving into his next line, the smirk on his face barely concealed. βBy the way,β Milo said, casually swirling the whiskey in his glass, βI heard about Louis* canceling on your cover shoot last minute. That must have been a real pain.β He feigned sympathy, his voice dripping with insincerity. βIβm really sorry to hear that. It must suck dealing with those last minute changes. But Iβm glad you found a solution. Youβre always so resourceful.β
* Louis is a photographer, a close friend of Milo
@CerealKiller - Zoe
hope this is okiiii