CHAPTER ONE
SADIE
Ishouldn’tbehere.
But it’s too late to turn back. The heavy weight of regret hums beneath my skin like static.
The bass trembles through the walls, low and steady, like a heartbeat. Light spills out from the open doorway—dim, but still too bright against the dark stretch of sky behind me. I hover at the edge, breath caught in my throat, fingertips tingling.
People only talk about fight-or-flight when describing the body’s physiological reactions to a perceived threat, forgetting the third F—and the most fatal:freeze.
Which is, unfortunately, my brain’s go-to response in any situation.
A hand slips into mine—warm, familiar fingers interlacing with my own before tugging me forward.
I stumble over the threshold, heels clicking across the polished concrete floors.
So pretentious.
Glancing up, my eyes meet Mia’s, glittering beneath the stilted lighting. She grins at me, flashing me a look that saystrust me, and even though every nerve in my body is screaming this is a bad idea, I follow her.
The air smells like champagne and something sharp and sweet I can’t name. My chest tightens, and Mia must feel the tremor wrecking through me because she slows, looking at me over her bare shoulder.
“Just breathe,” she whispers.
I nod, ignoring the little voice in my head that is screaming now.
Bad idea.Bad idea. Bad idea.
I swallow it down, plaster on a smile, and keep walking, doing what I do best: pretending.
Pretend this isn’t a mistake. Pretend I’m fine. Pretend I belong. Pretend I’m not already in way over my head.
The mansion is a cold, theatrical display of wealth. A perfect example of the sayingjust because you can, doesn’t mean you should.
I’d bet a million dollars whoever lives here thinks he’s revolutionary for tearing down the original house and replacing it with this brutalistic monstrosity.
If this party were in any other neighborhood, there would’ve been a multitude of noise complaints.
But if there’s anything I’ve learned in this life, it’s that money can buy anything—even silence.
We bump into people as we weave farther into the house. The whispers, gasps, and murmurs are impossible to ignore, even over the deafening bass. People have nothing better to do than gossip and spread rumors.
The double takes before leaning and whispering and giggling into their friends’ ears get old really fast, but they’re inevitable. Especially with Mia.
She tugs me toward the bar off to the side, staffed with two male bartenders mixing drinks in their monochrome black uniforms.
I spot Tori almost immediately. She’s batting her eyelashes at the blonde as he pours an espresso martini and slides it in front of a woman who is, without a doubt, in denial about her age, given her stiff and emotionless face.
But he’s entranced, unable to take his eyes off my redheaded friend as she leans over the bar top, pushing her cleavage together and giving him a full view down her low-cut dress.
I’ve never understood the games my friends like to play with people. I’m not a prude by any means—but I’m also not reckless. All I want is to find my person and live a happy, peaceful life.
Mia and I share a look, slipping past our friend and moving to the opposite end of the bar to order drinks. She is supposed to be keeping a low profile, but trouble always seems to have a way of finding her.
She’s never been good at doing what people tell her to, her manager included. But it’s one of the things I love most about her. She’s not afraid to be exactly who she is, consequences be damned.
The energy around us is intoxicating and terrifying all at once. Mia orders two vodka sodas, but I shake my head. The last thing I need is alcohol clouding my mind tonight.
