As I retreated to my room, the Miami heat seeped through the hotel's premium air conditioning, making the marble floors feel like a chilly welcome mat.
The scene outside was a farce, with Madison giggling with Amanda about something that probably involved my abs, Charlotte drowning in damage control calls that made her sound like a CEO on the brink of a nervous breakdown, and Margaret still reeling from seeing my body in 4K resolution like she'd witnessed a divine revelation.
But I had one final trick up my sleeve to break the three vultures' backs, and it was going to be more satisfying than watching Jake Paul get knocked out on live TV. The vultures were currently divided, exactly as I wanted.
