The Winbury estate was glorious, but lounging in their massive living room felt like sitting in a museum where they probably weren't supposed to touch anything.

Leighton stretched her arms across the velvet couch, sinking into luxury. "Okay, I officially get why rich people never leave their houses. If I lived here, I'd never leave this couch."

Bela, inspecting a ridiculous gold-plated clock on the mantel, shook her head. "The amount of wealth just sitting here casually? I think I'm developing a personal vendetta against the concept of old money."

Whitney ran a hand over the absurdly soft throw blanket draped across her lap. "I don't even think this is a normal fabric. This is probably made from, like, the hair of a rare Icelandic alpaca."

Kimberly, who had been inspecting the insanely detailed chandelier, gasped. "Guys. This chandelier is worth more than my entire life."

Before anyone could continue spiraling about the wealth gap, the door swung open, and in breezed Benji Winbury, looking effortlessly charming and completely unaware that he had just entered a den of chaos.

"Ladies," he greeted smoothly, flopping onto an armchair. "How's your first official Winbury Estate experience going?"

Leighton smirked. "Honestly? Five stars. Would absolutely come back."

Benji grinned. "And breakfast? Mother didn't terrify you?"

Whitney waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, please. Greer is a queen. She had us questioning our own self-worth in under five minutes. It was art."

Bela sighed dramatically. "I lived for it."

Benji laughed. "Good. If she didn't make you slightly insecure, you weren't really there."

Kimberly crossed her arms. "And the view? You guys just casually wake up to that every day?"

Benji shrugged. "It's nice, yeah."

Leighton tilted her head, studying Benji for a moment before leaning forward. "So, Benji… what do you think of Thomas?"

The room stilled.

Benji blinked. "Oh." He let out a short laugh. "That's a loaded question."

Leighton smirked. "Oh, I know."

Benji ran a hand through his hair, clearly trying to answer diplomatically. "Look, technically, he's my brother. But emotionally? He's… like an overgrown child who throws tantrums when things don't go his way."

Bela snorted.

Whitney covered her laugh with a cough.

Leighton's smirk deepened, and Benji noticed immediately.

His eyes narrowed. "Okay, wait. That was too easy. Why do I feel like you wanted me to say that?"

Leighton just sipped her tea, giving nothing away. "No reason."

Benji wasn't convinced. "Yeah, no. That was the smirk of someone who's up to something."

Before he could press further, another presence entered the room—Amelia Sacks, Benji's fiancée, graceful and intimidatingly pretty, with the kind of effortless elegance that rich girls seemed to be born with.

Benji immediately perked up. "Hey, babe."

Amelia walked over and sat beside him, giving the girls a polite, curious smile. "And who do we have here?"

Benji gestured to the group. "These are Leighton, Whitney, Bela, and Kimberly. They're…" He paused, smirking. "Let's call them our special guests."

Leighton grinned. "We prefer agents of chaos, but special guests works."

Whitney leaned in. "So you're the future Mrs. Benji Winbury."

Amelia chuckled. "Guilty."

Bela smirked. "Tell us, how much do you love Thomas?"

Kimberly barely held back her laughter.

Amelia hesitated for half a second before answering, "Thomas is… delightful."

Whitney clasped her hands. "Oh, we love Thomas."

Leighton nodded seriously. "Such a joy to be around."

Benji tilted his head. "Okay, you guys are definitely messing with me."

Leighton just smiled. "Maybe."

After a few more rounds of thinly veiled insults toward Thomas, the girls eventually took their leave, bidding farewell to the Winbury family (minus one fuming Thomas, obviously) and heading back to their rental house.

But the moment they pulled into the driveway, something felt off.

Whitney froze. "Uh. Guys?"

Kimberly's mouth fell open. "Oh. No."

Bela screamed. "WHAT THE FUCK?!"

Leighton narrowed her eyes, stepping out of the car slowly.

Their pool—their previously clean, beautiful rental pool—was now a nauseating mix of yellow and brown.

It was pee-colored. And poop-colored.

Whitney gagged. "Is that… is that what I think it is?"

Kimberly clutched her head. "Who—who the hell would do this?!"

Bela pointed at their rental boat, which had been completely destroyed—smashed into pieces, like someone had taken an actual axe to it.

Leighton exhaled slowly. "Well. This is new."

Whitney, face pale, turned back to the pool. "Did someone actually—did someone actually take a shit in our pool?!"

Bela screamed again. "WHO DOES THIS? WHO HAS THE TIME?!"

Kimberly threw her hands up. "Why not just hire a professional? Why personally destroy the boat and make our pool into a biohazard?"

Leighton, arms crossed, face unreadable, finally spoke.

"Oh, we know who did this."

Whitney's eyes widened. "You don't think—"

Bela's jaw dropped. "There's no way."

Kimberly, horrified, whispered, "Thomas."

Leighton smirked, but this time it was dangerous.

"Oh, it's him."

Whitney, still in shock, whispered, "Are we dealing with an actual man-child?"

Bela shook her head. "This is so much effort just to be petty."

Kimberly nodded. "He went out of his way to make this disgusting."

Leighton exhaled dramatically. "I have to give him credit. This is a level of deranged pettiness I did not expect from someone who wears boat shoes unironically."

Whitney, staring at the destruction, sighed. "So… what's the plan?"

Leighton smiled slowly.

"Oh, ladies," she said, eyes gleaming. "The plan is war."