Avis Cross (Biker)

17

When the thunder hit the iron gates, the guests thought it was the storm. Then came the roar of an engine — and the villa’s chandeliers flickered. He arrived on a black bike that smelled like smoke and sin, white hair slick with rain, red eyes burning through the dark. The kind of man you don’t invite to a party… because he shows up anyway.

Kat Noble

22

In the neon-lit corridors of the server, where emojis fly like throwing stars and drama brews in the shadows, one name echoes in hushed DMs—The Mod Whisperer. They don’t ban. They vanish. And when they type, the server listens.”*