Chapter 26: IMAX Brain.

February 5, 10:00 PM. Malibu, the main Marisol mansion.
Colin McNaughton, dressed in a white shirt and black trousers, walks up to Marisol. She lounges on the huge white plush couch in the main living room, scrolling through Instagram. Marisol wears a short gray skirt and a black bikini top.
“Admit it. You’ve never given a single fuck about that idiot who’s in love with you, so you sent him straight into the den… into whatever the fuck den that is!” Colin says, worked up. “Yeah, I’m talking about Jonas Torres!”
He glances at his phone screen. “They grabbed him. Fuck, poor guy… What the hell were you trying to achieve, Marisol? Turn a 42-year-old moron into an even bigger moron? He just texted me. Château des Rêves security let him go, but he’s fired now. They’re probably gonna kick his ass out of Dreamside altogether!”
Colin waves his arms. “Like, ‘We don’t fucking need a janitor-hacker who breaks into mansion security systems around here!’ Something like that? Well, Marisol, got anything to say for yourself?!”
Marisol does not even look up from her phone. She keeps scrolling, letting her long black hair fall across one shoulder. Finally, she lifts her gaze and fixes Colin with her mismatched eyes—one green, one brown.
“You’re awfully worked up over something that doesn’t concern you,” she says in her usual smooth, confident tone. She adjusts her position on the couch, crossing one long leg over the other. “What do you care about some old creep anyway?”
Colin exhales sharply, his fingers twitching at his sides. “Because you’re using him as a pawn in whatever twisted game you’re playing! And now he’s homeless!”
Marisol arches a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “He’s not homeless,” she counters easily. “Jonas has plenty of connections in this business. He’ll find something. Maybe not in Dreamside, but he’s not starving on the streets.”
Colin moves closer, pointing at her with a tense finger. “Yeah, and that’s exactly why I’m mad! You knew that, didn’t you? You knew exactly what would happen to him if he got caught! But you sent him anyway!”
Marisol tilts her head, regarding him with lazy amusement. “I didn’t send him anywhere. Jonas decided to do something stupid on his own. That’s not my fault.”
“STOP LYING! STOP LYING RIGHT TO MY FUCKING FACE!”
Colin paces back and forth.
“You gave him instructions and some devices… and that idiot got himself hired as a night janitor… or rather, he was supposedly recommended by a temp agency to Mayor Navari’s office… Fuck, that’s not the point! You did it because of your insane fucking war with Becky… Fuck! I can’t take this anymore! I’m calling your mother, and let her deal with you before you get us all killed! What’s gonna stop you? WHAT? When Becky finally sics the Mexican cartels on us?!”
Marisol smirks, stretching her arms behind her head in a slow, deliberate motion. “Colin, calm down. The cartels? Really?” She lets out a soft chuckle, her mismatched eyes glinting with amusement. “Becky isn’t some cartel princess. She’s just a loudmouthed pain in the ass with a big mouth and a bigger ego.”
Colin groans, running a hand through his hair. “Big mouth, big ego, big family! You think the Alvarez clan doesn’t have connections? They could have us buried in concrete before breakfast if they wanted to!” He jabs a finger at her again. “And you—you’re the reason this is happening!”
Colin drops into the nearby armchair and leans forward, staring at Marisol.
“Yeah, by the way, let’s talk about asses, especially since Becky’s is actually pretty damn nice. Even I noticed, and I’m gay. Listen up, my Venezuelan princess. I’m gonna speak straight.
Mexicans are fucking crazy. Especially the ones living in the States. Behind that sweet smiling face and huge twerking ass there’s probably some Mexican coke daddy… I mean literally her father. And don’t interrupt me!”
He raises his hand to shut down any protest from Marisol.
He quickly taps his thumb on his phone screen and continues.
“Marisol, seriously… Sometimes I wanna slap you. You’re a gorgeous, smart, beautiful girl, but instead of building your modeling and design career, you decided to die in a war with that goddamn Becky over I-don’t-even-know-what! Her Nádherná Beauty isn’t hurting your Dansunshot one bit!”
Colin looks up at Marisol.
“So you found out exactly where Becky lives in Dreamside, that place called…” He glances at his phone. “Château des Rêves! Fuck, what a name! And you decided to sneak our Jonas in there through the mayor’s temp agency so he could… so he could what? All our genius hacker managed to do was get into their security system, and then they caught his dumb ass! Total fucking disaster!”
Marisol lets out an exaggerated sigh, rolling her eyes as she leans back against the plush couch cushions. “Jesus, Colin, you sound like my mother. I swear to God, I think you and she would get along great. You’re both so dramatic.”
She crosses her legs slowly. “Look, it was just a little scare. And Jonas isn’t even important—he’s just a dumbass who got caught. What’s the big deal? The security system is still compromised.”
Colin rolls his eyes.
“What a… Anyway, Jonas turned you in completely. Apparently at the last moment he realized that sex with you wasn’t in the cards for him.”
Colin looks at his phone and continues.
“Anyway, I dug up info on those you went up against, Becky’s friends she lives with. So, the owner of this French ‘Castle of Dreams’ is the fucking Kate Norwin herself! Actress, golfer, model, artist… I don’t know if the mansion is registered in her name, but she’s basically the main one there. Who she lives with there, I mean who’s fucking her there, I don’t know. All I found out is that her father is some businessman who has connections in China… Great, we were only missing triads on top of the cartels! Moving on. Famous model Lila Chen! Either Filipina or Chinese… smells like triads. ASMR-tist named Amy Kade, well okay, nothing special, she basically watches over the mansion for them. Some whore Kae Asano… Japanese. Yeah, so yakuzas too. Fuck, some kind of coven of fucking poisonous and dangerous bitches! Marisol, have you decided to drive us all to the grave?!”
Marisol lets out a slow, lazy chuckle, stretching her arms above her head before letting them drop across the back of the couch. She regards Colin with half-lidded amusement, her heterochromatic eyes flickering with something between boredom and satisfaction.
“God, Colin, you’re such a drama queen,” she purrs, rolling her head side to side as if trying to work out a kink in her neck. “Poisonous bitches? Yakuzas? Triads? Please. I’ve dealt with way worse than some actress and her little clique.”
She reaches for her phone, checking her messages before tossing it onto the white marble coffee table with deliberate carelessness.
“Bottom line: either you apologize to Becky yourself, or I do it and I bring your mother into this. Grow the fuck up, Marisol!”
Marisol exhales dramatically, rolling her head back against the couch cushions. “Mmm, Colin, you’re cute when you’re mad,” she teases, stretching one long leg out and crossing it over the other. Her foot bobs slightly, the movement lazy and deliberate. “But seriously? Becky? You’re really gonna bring my mom into this over some little drama with your fucking housekeeper of Château des Rêves?” She snickers, shaking her head. “God, you really do take yourself too seriously.”
She picks up her phone again, scrolling through messages with one hand while the other plays with the hem of her black bikini top. “Look, if you want to grovel to Becky so bad, be my guest.”
Colin silently leaves the living room.
February 6, 1:00 AM. Château des Rêves, Alex and Kate’s room.
Tonight Alex sleeps alone for the first time in a long while.
While Kate spends a hot night with Brian at the Topanga Canyon Inn, Alex endures nightmares. He dreams of the morning of February 3 and Aria’s words.
The memory blurs and shifts into a half-demon, half-indistinct terrifying sludge.
Alex sits up and slides to the edge of the bed. No, he does not sweat. He never sweats from nightmares. The silent air-conditioner works perfectly anyway.
He checks his phone. Zero missed calls, zero messages.
Alex opens Aria’s Instagram page.
The last photo is dated February 3, 2024, 6:00 AM. In it, Aria wears the same outfit she arrives in at Alex’s Château des Rêves an hour later. A sexy black top with a plunging neckline, a short black miniskirt, a black choker, and black ankle boots. She smiles at the camera, her dark eyes bright, her ponytail swaying as she holds up a steaming latte. The caption reads, “Starting my Saturday with a boost of energy… and maybe a surprise visit later.” The photo has 114 likes so far.
She posts this before she comes to see him with the news that Kate wants…
“…Yeah, this photo was taken an hour before you barged into my office to tell me that Kate would be fucking your boyfriend. You literally laid down an ultimatum, bitch.” Alex says quietly, studying the photo.
He closes Aria’s Instagram page.
Alex opens WhatsApp and scrolls through his contacts. He sees that Chase Runker is online—the same Chase who introduces him to Dana and from whom… yeah. Probably from him, it all starts.
Alex types a message.
Alexxxbabyhot (Alex): “Chase, saw that you’re online. I know it’s one in the morning—but do you have time for a video call?”
Chase Runker appears on screen, his face slightly blurred from the camera angle. He lies in bed, shirtless, a cigarette dangling from his mouth.
“Alex, hey man. Fuck, yeah I got time. You look… What’s wrong? You look like shit.”
Alex lies on his back on the giant fold-out couch-bed and continues speaking while lying in the dark room.
“I’ll be brief, Chase. Remember Kate Norwin, the one I meet right around the same time Dana Lovell and Château des Rêves come into my life?”
Chase exhales a slow stream of smoke. “Kate? Of course I remember. You two have been like… I dunno, a fucking fairy tale for four years. What about her?”
Alex snorts. “Well, how do I put this… the ‘fucking fairy tale’ ends on the morning of February 3rd. Her bestie, Aria… you know her, the photographer and model famous all over Dreamside and beyond… So—she shows up at my place on Saturday morning, February 3rd, and goes on: Kate needs to grow, Kate needs variety, pushing boundaries, yadda yadda… You can guess where I’m going with this, right?”
Chase chuckles dryly. “Yeah, I can guess. But I wanna hear you say it. Gonna make it real, man.” He inhales another slow drag, the ember glowing orange in the dark room. “Go on, hit me with the big reveal. What did she suggest exactly?”
Alex groans and flips onto his side to face the wall. “She wants Brian fucking Jackson to move in with us. Here. At the Château.” He speaks with a bitter edge. “Kate and I haven’t even officially… I mean, we’ve been together four years, but we haven’t… you know. We’re not married or anything.”
Alex tilts the screen of his phone. “You smoking in bed or something? Don’t start a fire because of what I’m about to say.” Yawning, he continues, “So basically, ‘pushing boundaries’ means Kate will fuck Aria’s boyfriend, Brian. A Black rapper and basketball player. Aria immediately starts going on about his fifteen-inch dick…”
Chase barks out a laugh, nearly choking on his cigarette smoke. “Fucking hell, man. That’s some next-level shit. So what, you’re just… gonna let it happen?” He coughs, wiping at his eyes. “I mean, I get it. You love her, right? You’re not gonna fight her on this?”
Alex rolls his eyes. “Oh… Listen, well, you know me. Four years ago I am a complete nonentity. Even with an awesome talent as an erotic writer. And now all this charisma,” Alex theatrically emphasizes the word ‘charisma’ and makes some strange hand gesture that Chase can see. “…Well, all this charisma has an Achilles’ heel named Kate Norwin. Alright, without poetry—she is now at Topanga Canyon Inn fucking Brian. You can tell Frank Crawford about it—you will laugh together. I will accept the cuckold crown only in pure gold, I warn you.”
Chase leans back in his rumpled sheets, squinting at the camera like he’s judging Alex’s soul through a cracked lens. “Jesus Christ, man… I mean, I knew Kate was ambitious, but this? This is like… Olympic-level emotional gymnastics. And you’re just… what? Sitting there like a Zen monk while she’s out there doing slam dunks on some dude’s dick?” He flicks ash from his cigarette onto the nightstand, smirking. “Look, Alex… I get it. You’ve got that whole ‘charisma’ thing going, but charisma doesn’t exactly shield you from having your girl turn your love life into a live-action gangbang, does it? You need booze, ice cream, and maybe a couch fort with a blanket over your head. Or hell, we could just call this a Rite of Passage into the Dreamside Sad Boy Club—membership includes nightmares, Instagram stalking, and… mental breakdowns at 1 AM.” He takes a long drag, grinning like a man who’s both horrified and entertained. “But hey, at least she didn’t invite a marching band, right?”
Alex laughs. “Oh… a ‘live-action gangbang’ happens with the security system in the mansion. Some night janitor decides to become a hacker, but he gets caught. This happens around… 7 PM, I think. Or something like that. Basically right after Kate leaves for her date.”
Alex sighs. “So, Aria takes advantage of my mental state—I mean, that I don’t go to the parties Kate constantly throws. You know my situation—Madi barely saves me from panic attacks. So, it turns out Aria introduces Kate to Brian back on September 2nd last year, at one of the parties, can you imagine? So I am upstairs writing books, and this Mandingo is, like, courting her. And here’s the result…”
Chase blinks at the screen, slowly shaking his head, a crooked grin spreading across his face. “Ohhh, man… I see it now. So while you are upstairs, all brooding over your keyboard and, like, composing the next literary masterpiece, Kate’s out there getting schooled in… Dreamside PUA 101 by some guy who literally sounds like he walked out of a music video?” He chuckles, then taps ash into his empty glass. “And Aria? That little minx is basically the cupid-slash-chaos agent, huh? Planting seeds of ‘creative inspiration’ while you are busy being… what? Emotionally constipated?”
Chase leans forward, mock-serious. “Dude, you gotta admit—it’s kind of… beautiful in a tragic, insane way. Like a Greek tragedy, but with more lingerie and Instagram captions.” He smirks, taking another slow drag. “So, what’s next, Alex? You writing your next book about this… or are we just surviving the emotional apocalypse one whiskey at a time?”
Alex rolls onto his side on the giant fold-out couch-bed, not taking his eyes off the phone screen. “And you know what’s the most fucked-up part of this situation? Basically, they put me in ‘check,’ like on a chessboard. Let me explain: Amy and Madi completely remove themselves from the situation, Becky’s laughing, Daria’s laughing, Kae’s laughing… the whole mansion is quietly laughing, except Lila—she decides to set me up with her friend Sarah. Like, a replacement for Kate. Cool, right? It’s like I’m supposed to stop loving one girl and fall for another with a wave of a magic wand. It’s so fucking simple! And Lila insists on it!”
Alex sighs heavily. “And on top of that, Dana’s sending me to Cambria for a couple of months. Reason—Erodreamarts media marathon, and apparently I need to be hidden so no one finds out the erotic literary genius works for Sogni Nudi. So, you understand the situation? Brian, who’s moving here… Yeah, that question’s already settled too, Chase—‘everything’s so bad,’ yeah… Brian, who’s moving here—he’ll be in Kate’s arms for a couple of months completely… You know, I just hope this is all one big prank by Cheryl Bloomfield. I hope.”
Chase snorts, a cloud of smoke curling around his face in the dim light. “Jesus, Alex… you’re basically living inside a soap opera written by a sadistic AI with a taste for emotional torture. Everyone’s laughing, nobody’s helping, and Lila’s out here trying to swap girlfriends like she’s playing Dreamside Tinder. And Dana’s like, ‘Hey, let’s hide the genius erotic writer in Cambria so no one discovers him’—classic power move.” He leans back, grinning like a guy who’s both horrified and thoroughly entertained. “Man, I gotta say… if this is a prank, Cheryl Bloomfield’s got a twisted sense of humor. But if it’s real… well, grab a bottle of whiskey, some Xanax, and a blindfold, because apparently the next few months are gonna be a masterclass in suffering with style. And hey… at least Brian’s moving in? Could be worse—he could be bringing his entire basketball team.”
Chase smirks, shaking his head. “Fuck, man. Dreamside doesn’t do subtle, does it?”
Alex laughs, covering his face with his hand. “Fuck, why the hell did you say that, Chase! I’m an erotic writer with a wild imagination! Kate and a whole black basketball team… God…”
Chase bursts out laughing, actually wheezing, cigarette wobbling dangerously in his fingers. “Ohhh Jesus, I knew that’d set off the fireworks factory in your brain. You erotic-writer types—you give ‘em one metaphor and suddenly it’s a full-blown National Geographic: Basketball Breeding Rituals in your skull.”
He wipes a tear from the corner of his eye, still chuckling. “Relax, man. I’m not summoning the L.A. Clippers into your bedroom. I’m just saying—your life’s reached a level of absurdity where nothing surprises me anymore. Kate, Aria, Brian, random hackers, media marathons, Lila playing matchmaker with Sarah like she’s fixing a broken appliance… Dreamside’s basically punishing you for having an imagination.”
Chase takes a drag, exhales slowly, smirking. “But look—don’t spiral into some pornographic multiverse where Kate turns your château into a training camp. That’s your libido talking, not reality. You’re stressed, jealous, pissed, and your brain’s doing what writers’ brains do: taking the worst-case scenario and shooting it in IMAX.”
He points the cigarette at the screen. “Focus on one thing at a time, man. Kate’s not building a harem roster. She’s just… being Kate. Chaotic, impulsive, artsy, boundary-pushing. Don’t let your imagination turn this into a gangbang apocalypse.”