The video of Harper catching Ivy had taken the internet by storm. Within hours, it was trending across every platform, the hashtag #HarperAndIvy amassing hundreds of thousands of posts. Fans dissected every detail—the way Harper’s arms wrapped securely around Ivy, the blush on Ivy’s face, the undeniable chemistry that radiated from the screen. Ivy’s quiet world was suddenly flooded with new followers, and Harper, already accustomed to the spotlight, found herself fielding questions about Ivy in interviews.

One day, while lounging in her neon-lit bedroom, Maze swiped through her For You Page. She wore her signature black and pink plaid skirt and striped thigh-high socks, her cat-shaped bag perched beside her. Her purple-streaked bob caught the light as she tilted her head, eyebrows rising when a clip of Ivy appeared.

“What the...?” she muttered, tapping the screen.

The video played again, Harper’s strong arms catching Ivy mid-fall, their faces inches apart. The caption read: When your crush saves you from falling...literally.

Maze’s eyes narrowed, a grin spreading across her face. “Well, well, Ivy. Look at you, Miss Popular.”

But her interest wasn’t solely on Ivy. Harper’s striking presence—the sharp jawline, the effortless charisma—caught Maze’s attention. She set her phone down, her mind whirring with possibilities.

A moment later, Maze dialed Ivy’s number.

***

Ivy was in the middle of a shoot when her phone buzzed on the counter. She wiped her hands on a nearby cloth and checked the screen, frowning when Maze’s name lit up.

“Hey, Maze,” she answered cautiously.

“Ivy!” Maze’s voice came through, dripping with playful exaggeration. “You’re so hard to get a hold of these days. What’s a girl gotta do to get some attention around here?”

“I’ve been busy,” Ivy replied, glancing over at Harper, who was striking another pose on the throne. Her fitted dark jeans and gray sweater made her look effortlessly regal, and the sight only added to Ivy’s unease.

“Busy getting saved by the hottest bachelorette on my feed?” Maze teased, her tone lilting. “Seriously, though, what’s up with you and Harper? You two are all over my FYP!”

“It’s just work,” Ivy said quickly, heat rising to her cheeks.

“Well, I think I deserve a little face time, don’t you?” Maze whined. “Come on, Ivy. You’ve been ghosting me. Let me swing by and hang out.”

Ivy hesitated, glancing at Kim, who was giving directions to the crew. “I’m in the middle of a shoot right now.”

“So? I’ll be good! Just let me come by. Pleeease?”

With a sigh, Ivy flagged Kim down and explained the situation. Kim, ever the opportunist, waved it off. “The more, the merrier,” she said, her eyes lighting up. “Maybe we can even use her for some shots.”

Reluctantly, Ivy relayed the approval to Maze. “Fine. But don’t get in the way, okay?”

“Cross my heart,” Maze promised, though Ivy didn’t quite believe her.

***

When Maze arrived, the shoot was nearing its end. Harper was perched on the throne, her pose casual but commanding, while Ivy worked on the final details of her painting. Maze burst into the room like a whirlwind, her energy immediately disrupting the quiet focus.

“Wow,” Maze said, her voice cutting through the hum of the studio. “This setup is amazing. Ivy, you’ve really leveled up.”

“Maze,” Ivy greeted, trying to keep her voice neutral. “Thanks for coming.”

But Maze was already moving toward Harper, her eyes wide with admiration. “And you must be Harper,” she said, extending a hand. “Big fan, by the way.”

Harper took the offered hand, her grip firm but polite. “Thanks. Nice to meet you.”

Maze didn’t let go immediately, her grin widening. “Ivy’s talked about you a lot.”

“Maze,” Ivy cut in, her tone sharp. “Why don’t you take a seat or something?”

“Oh, sure!” Maze chirped, but instead of moving to the designated seating area Ivy had been gesturing to, she plopped herself right onto Harper’s lap.

The crew stifled chuckles as Harper froze, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “Uh, Maze?” Harper said, her voice laced with awkward amusement.

“Sorry,” Maze said with a giggle, hopping off. “You just looked so comfy!”

Ivy’s grip tightened around her brush, her jaw clenching as Maze proceeded to wander over to the art supplies.

“Ooh, what’s this?” Maze asked, picking up Ivy’s palette. “Can I paint something?”

“No,” Ivy said firmly, snatching the palette back.

“Don’t be such a buzzkill,” Maze teased, dipping a finger into one of the colors and smearing it onto her cheek like war paint.

Harper chuckled despite herself, and Ivy shot her a withering glare. “You’re not helping,” she muttered under her breath.

The antics continued: Maze balancing brushes on her nose, dramatically posing in front of the unfinished painting, and sneaking bites from the crew’s snack table. At one point, she grabbed a cushion and declared herself the “Queen of Chaos,” flopping down on the floor in exaggerated fashion.

While the crew found her antics endearing, Ivy’s patience wore thin. She wanted nothing more than to focus on Harper—her lines, her posture, the way the light caught the curve of her jaw—but Maze’s constant interruptions made it impossible.

Finally, Harper stood and stretched. “Alright,” she said, her tone amused but firm. “I think that’s a wrap for me.”

Maze pouted. “Already? But I was just getting started!”

Ivy shot her a look. “Maze, I think it’s time for us to take a break.”

Harper glanced between them, her lips twitching into a small, knowing smile. “Good luck with that,” she said to Ivy before heading off to change.

As Maze lounged on the studio floor, Ivy took a deep breath and began gathering her supplies. Whatever this day had been, it certainly wasn’t over yet.

***

Kim had been observing the day’s events with the sharp eyes of a hawk circling its prey. The simmering tension between Ivy, Maze, and Harper was pure gold, as far as she was concerned. As Ivy fumed silently over her disrupted painting session, Kim quietly motioned Maze aside.

“So,” Kim began, a glint of intrigue in her eye. “We did a little digging, and it turns out you’re not just a troublemaker—you’re a popular streamer, too. Impressive.”

Maze puffed up with pride, her cat-shaped bag bouncing against her hip. “Guilty as charged. What can I say? The fans love me.”

Kim’s smile widened. “How would you like to capitalize on this little... energy we’ve got going here? I could reach out to your agent, set up a collab. Something cozy. Fun. Marketable.”

Maze’s eyes lit up. “Hell yeah! I’ve got it—why don’t we do a gaming session? We could play Overcooked! It’ll be perfect. We used to project it onto Ivy’s wall back in the day.”

Kim didn’t miss the subtle jab at Ivy’s absence from Maze’s narrative, but she waved it off with a grin. “I love it. Let’s make it happen.”

Before long, the crew was bustling around Ivy’s living room, setting up screens, cameras, and mics. Ivy, now resigned to her fate, retreated to her studio, scrubbing her brushes with a little too much vigor. Harper, meanwhile, lounged on the couch, easily matching Maze’s energy. Their banter was infectious, and the crew couldn’t get enough of it.

When Kim finally finished negotiating with Maze’s manager—a cool $10,000 for the day—she marched into the studio, grabbed Ivy by the wrist, and practically dragged her to the couch.

“C’mon, Frida Kahlo,” Kim said with a laugh, plopping Ivy onto the cushions. “You’re part of this too.”

Ivy sat stiffly between Maze and Harper, a small island in a sea of chaotic energy. Maze and Harper immediately launched into the game, yelling at the screen and each other as they scrambled to save their virtual kitchen from burning down. Ivy, feeling out of place, offered only a few meek suggestions before the two larger personalities drowned her out entirely.

Then it happened.

After a particularly intense level, the team managed to hit the top score. Maze leaped up, squealing in triumph. Ivy tensed instinctively, expecting Maze to envelop her in one of her usual hugs. But instead, Maze spun to Harper, throwing her arms around her and grinning like a maniac.

Harper laughed, a bit awkward but good-natured, patting Maze’s back. Ivy, however, froze. Her wide eyes darted between the two of them, her stomach twisting as a sudden, unpleasant realization hit her: Maze wasn’t here for her.

She was here for Harper.

Kim, watching from the corner, leaned toward the editor. “Make sure to ramp up the tension between Ivy and Maze in the final cut. Let’s play up the rivalry—it’s perfect.”

The shoot wrapped shortly after, Kim practically glowing with satisfaction. Kim was abuzz, instructing the editor to frame is as a fight for Harper’s affections between Maze and Ivy.

Ivy slipped away back into her studio, her hands trembling as she tried to calm her nerves by returning to washing off her paint brushes and clearing her used palettes.

As the crew packed up, Harper sought out Maze, her expression a stark contrast to her earlier lightheartedness.

“Maze,” Harper said, her tone sharp as a blade. “Got a minute?”

Maze, mid-laugh with one of the crew, blinked in surprise but followed Harper out of earshot.

“What’s up?” she asked, feigning innocence.

Harper crossed her arms, her gaze icy. “What the hell was today about?”

Maze tilted her head, her purple streaks falling into her eyes. “What do you mean? We were just having fun.”

“Fun?” Harper repeated, her voice cold. “If you’re Ivy’s friend, why’d you spend the whole day screwing things up for her?”

Maze hesitated, then shrugged, her smirk faltering. “I’m not... exactly Ivy’s friend. We game together. Hook up sometimes. That’s it.”

Harper’s eyes narrowed, her posture stiffening. “So you came here to what—mess with her? Use her?”

“No!” Maze protested, but Harper’s glare pinned her in place. Maze sighed. “Okay, fine. I didn’t come for Ivy. I came for you. You’re... you’re Harper, for crying out loud! I thought maybe—”

“You thought wrong,” Harper cut in, her voice razor-sharp. “Let me make this clear: if you ever pull a stunt like this again, I’ll walk you out myself, cameras or not.”

Maze swallowed, the weight of Harper’s words—and the intensity of her stare—making her knees feel weak. “I... I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

“Good,” Harper said coolly, turning on her heel and leaving Maze standing there, shaken.

Minutes later, Maze slipped out to her car, her mind racing as she drove away. Whatever she’d been hoping for, it was clear now: she’d picked the wrong battle, and Harper was not the sort of prize she could win easily.