How To Live With Three Crazy Ex-Girlfriends

August 2nd, 2025

At Haneda Airport - 3:02 AM

The midnight air at Haneda Airport crackled with energy. Private jets dotted the farthest section of the runway, each belonging to celebrities, billionaires, and international dignitaries. But none were watched quite like the one that had yet to arrive.

Foxxy stood near the end of the tarmac, dressed in an obsidian leather trench coat that shimmered like oil under the floodlights. Her platform boots tapped against the pavement, arms crossed, expression unreadable beneath her silver fox mask. She exuded cold fire.

Surrounding her were two managers, four assistants, and twelve bodyguards clad in matte-black suits and sunglasses, their earpieces glowing like tiny blue stars.

One of her managers, the older one with gray hair slicked back and a permanent sheen of anxiety on his face, adjusted his collar. "You'll have to collaborate with her."

Foxxy didn't look at him. Her lips parted slightly. "Do I need to collaborate with her?" Her voice was calm, cold, yet carried the edge of annoyance, like a winter breeze slicing through silk.

"Yes," the younger manager chimed in quickly. "She's… she's phenomenal. A global sensation. Renowned, fabulous, powerful -"

"Spare me the adjectives."

"She's based in the UK. London. They call her 'Birmingham's Finest.' She's received honors from the Queen herself."

Foxxy's fingers twitched slightly at the mention of royalty. "Good for her," she murmured, gaze still fixed ahead.

"This partnership could boost ratings and ticket sales, and with your presence and hers - it's marketing perfection."

Foxxy finally turned her head, "Did you forget who I am?"

A tense pause.

"I'm Foxxy," she said, her tone like a blade cloaked in velvet. "I don't need boosting."

The entourage fell silent, swallowed by the hum of the runway.

Then, from the deep sky above Tokyo, a shape emerged.

"Here she comes!" one of the assistants cried, voice high with excitement.

The jet was enormous, sleek, and silver - its surface shimmered like moonlight on water. It wasn't just private. It was presidential. Royal. Designed for someone who didn't just fly - she arrived.

Foxxy watched without blinking.

The plane descended gracefully, engines barely humming. The landing was silk, not steel. As it slowed, the door cracked open with a mechanical hiss, and a dozen security guards emerged - tall, muscular, in tactical suits. Foreign, military-grade, stone-faced.

Then she appeared.

Isabelle Ravenglass.

Even her name carried weight. She stepped into view like she'd walked out of a fairytale, a queen exiled from Olympus and now gracing mortals with her presence.

Platinum blonde hair flowed in soft waves down her back, glittering under the lights. She was six feet tall and stunning in a floor-length cream coat with gold embroidery and thigh-high white boots that gleamed. Her stride was neither rushed nor hesitant - it was deliberate. Regal. Unshakable.

Every assistant, bodyguard, and manager on Foxxy's side fell into a reverent hush.

"She's like a goddess," someone whispered. "Like a Queen from a fantasy world."

Foxxy scoffed so subtly it was almost a breath.

Isabelle finally reached the end of the stairway, her smile soft but radiant - an angel's charm fused with a devil's confidence. Her bodyguards flanked her like a royal procession.

"Foxxy," Isabelle said, her voice thick with a Birmingham accent, rich and graceful, like warm honey over porcelain. "It's so great to meet you."

Foxxy didn't flinch. Her silence stretched just long enough to make others uncomfortable.

"I know we've crossed paths before," Isabelle continued, unfazed. "But let me properly introduce myself."

She extended a gloved hand, smile never faltering. "My name is Isabelle Ravenglass."

Her presence was magnetic - calculated, charming, intimidating in the way a well-aimed compliment can disarm even a seasoned warrior.

Foxxy tilted her mask downward, revealing eyes, black as an obsidian, that were sharp as cut diamonds. She looked Isabelle over - from her shoes to her soul.

"Nice to meet you," she said flatly.

She didn't take the hand.

The moment froze.

But Isabelle only smiled wider, as if she expected that. She slowly lowered her hand and glanced around. "My, Tokyo is buzzing tonight, isn't it? Your team looks fantastic."

"They always do," Foxxy replied coolly.

A beat passed. Then another.

Isabelle leaned in just a little, enough for only Foxxy to hear. "You know, I was warned you'd be cold. But I didn't think you'd be ice."

Foxxy tilted her head slightly. "You mistake stillness for weakness."

"Not at all. Still waters run deep, don't they?"

There was a pause between them, a moment of eye contact thick with unspoken rivalry. Not hatred. Not quite admiration either. Something else. A challenge.

One of Foxxy's assistants nervously stepped forward. "Shall we escort Miss Ravenglass and her team to the VIP lounge?"

"No need to rush," Isabelle said softly, still looking at Foxxy. "I'm enjoying the fresh air… and the company."

Foxxy rolled her eyes slightly. "I don't do small talk."

"I don't either," Isabelle replied, her smile now tinged with amusement. "But I do respect a woman who knows her worth. That's rare."

Foxxy's jaw clenched. She hated how charming Isabelle was. It wasn't fake - worse, it was real. Natural. Practiced and polished like a diamond that had earned its shine.

Isabelle turned to her bodyguards and gave a graceful nod. They stepped back. Then she turned her gaze to the Tokyo skyline.

"You know," she said, her voice thoughtful, "I've dreamed of standing on Japanese soil for years. There's something electric here. Don't you feel it?"

Foxxy remained still. "I feel manipulated."

Isabelle gave a light laugh, the kind that could sell perfume to someone allergic to scent. "Ah, but isn't that what we do, darling? Influence, captivate, sell a fantasy."

Foxxy narrowed her eyes. "I don't sell. I command."

"I believe you," Isabelle replied, turning to her again. "That's why I wanted to meet you. Truly."

Foxxy didn't respond. But for the first time, her gaze softened - minutely. A micro-expression. If you blinked, you missed it.

The two queens stood in silence, framed by flashing lights and adoring teams, each embodying a different flavor of power.

One cold as steel and just as strong.

The other warm like firelight and just as dangerous.

They weren't rivals yet.

But the world would watch closely.

Because when two stars burn this brightly, you don't know if they'll eclipse… or explode.