Sweet Trouble From Georgia

Travis sat at the inner table, surrounded by his family. His parents, Scott and Virginia, were at the head of the table, with his niece Emily, and her younger brother, Christopher, flanking him. His grandmother, Granny May, was seated at the far end, her eyes twinkling with amusement. His baby sister Vanessa was away on a business trip somewhere in South Carolina with her husband Jayson.

Vanessa had always been the business brain-sharp, focused, and eager to lead. Even as a kid, she'd been more invested in board meetings than Barbie dolls, while Travis chased basketball dreams like they were gold. He'd been just an overzealous teenage boy who believed the NBA would be his kingdom-until a dislocated arm robbed him of a shot with the Chicago Bulls.

But that fall pushed him. Made him build his own empire straight out of college.

"So, Trav, what's cooking?" Virginia asked, her voice laced with curiosity.

Travis shrugged with a crooked grin. "Not much, Mom. Just grinding through this new project. Trying to carve out my own corner of the world."

Scott leaned in, elbows on the polished table. "Corner? Feels like you're gunning for the whole damn skyline, son."

Travis chuckled. "Maybe just the east side of Manhattan-for now."

Granny May scoffed playfully from the end. "Oh please, the only thing you're carving is stress lines into your forehead with all those contracts."

Travis raised his glass toward her with a wink. "Gotta earn my stripes, Granny."

Scott smirked, clapping a firm hand on Travis's back. "You're doing it, kid. Proud of you."

Travis nodded. "Thanks, Pops. You taught me how to play the long game."

His niece Emily rolled her eyes with a teasing smile. "You're such a goofball, Uncle Travis."

Christopher, her younger brother, chuckled from the other side of the table. "Yeah, and you're the dork who thinks he's too cool for family game night."

Travis leaned back in his chair, grinning. "Hey, every family needs a dork. Might as well be the one with good hair."

Laughter filled the room, light and genuine. The conversation flowed easily from work updates to favorite shows, to who was still secretly watching old reruns of The Fresh Prince. It was these moments-this comfort-that reminded Travis why he loved them, even if he rarely said it out loud.

As the plates were cleared and dessert sat half-finished, Virginia looked over at her son. "So, Travis," she said, folding her napkin. "Have you thought about coming down to Georgia for a bit? Just to breathe?"

Travis hesitated, running a hand over his jaw. "I've got a full plate right now, Mom. This expansion project's not going to manage itself up here."

Scott leaned forward, arms crossed casually. "Son, the work's always going to be there. Doesn't mean you should let it swallow you."

Travis gave a dry smile. "Is this one of those fatherly wisdom talks?"

Scott smirked. "Nope. Just a man who's seen what burnout looks like."

Travis chuckled, then raised a brow. "You mean that thing where y'all lure me down with promises of rest but fatten me up with fried catfish and biscuits?"

That got the whole table laughing again.

"Well, maybe that too," Scott admitted with a grin.

Travis glanced around at their faces-his people-and gave in. "Alright, fine. I'll come down soon. Just don't act surprised when I nap through the whole visit."

Cheers and clapping broke out like they'd just won a bet.

When breakfast wrapped up the next morning, Travis saw them off with private flights back to Georgia. They had come to California three days earlier to oversee operations in a few of the family's companies-Vanessa's territory now. She ran the business like a general: sharp, fierce, and always two steps ahead.

Travis could've easily taken over one of those companies himself. But he hadn't. He'd built something of his own-his own name, his own empire. He still showed up when Vanessa asked, stepped in when things got tight. Not because he loved corporate life. But because it was family. And he owed them that much.

At least.

On a Saturday night, Travis walked into his usual spot with his manly charms. He was a regular at Casa Grande.

The lights of the nightclub pulsed and flashed, casting a strobe-like effect on the crowd of revelers. The air was thick with the smell of champagne and the distant hum of bass. Amidst the chaos, a figure stood out-Travis Scott, dressed in a crisp, white dress shirt left boldly unbuttoned at the top, revealing a glimpse of toned chest and a subtle glint of silver chain resting against his skin.

A pair of oversized silver-framed sunglasses sat on his head, pushing back soft, tousled curls. His trimmed beard, kissed with just the right amount of stubble, framed his strong jawline, while a few messy strands fell over his forehead with the sort of effortlessness that could drive someone mad.

He moved like a man who had nothing to prove-and that was exactly what made people look twice.

As Travis strode into the room, eyes turned. He scanned the club slowly, not searching, just observing-until he saw her.

She was magnetic.

A ravishing beauty, with raven-black hair cascading down her back, piercing green eyes, and a bold red dress that clung to her figure like it was stitched to her very skin. She looked like a warning and a promise all at once. A living flame.

This petite enchantress was no ordinary woman-she was the type that spoke in glances and left men speechless. And yet, tonight, she found herself the one caught in a gaze.

Travis didn't rush. He let the space between them build. Let her feel him approaching before she even saw him.

"Hi, I'm Travis Scott," he said smoothly, stopping just close enough that her perfume mixed with his cologne in the air between them. His smile? Lethal. Measured. All confidence and no pressure.

The woman turned, lips curving with a spark of amusement. "Clarabelle Belmont," she replied. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise." He let his gaze settle on her lips for a second longer than necessary. "You have a way of making red look... dangerous."

She raised a brow. "You have a way of walking in like you own the place."

He chuckled, low and soft. "Only until someone takes it from me."

She laughed, biting her lip-and he knew. He knew she was hooked. That delicate mix of curiosity and challenge danced in her eyes.

"Would you like to join me for a drink?" he offered, voice dipped in velvet.

Clara nodded, her chin tilted in confidence. She followed him, heels clicking, hips swaying-but Travis? He wasn't in a hurry.

They found a secluded corner by the balcony, where the cool night air whispered through. He handed her a glass, barely touching hers when they clinked, watching her over the rim as she sipped.

Their conversation flowed, full of playful digs and sizzling tension. But just when her voice softened, just when she leaned closer-he pulled back.

"I should probably head out," he said, setting down his glass.

Her smile faltered. "Leaving so soon?"

He leaned in just enough to let his breath brush her cheek. "You'll think about me longer this way."

And before she could respond, Travis turned with that devilish smirk, slipping into the crowd like smoke-gone.

But not forgotten.