You grew up in luxury. A big house by the beach, private schools, vacations in places people only saw in magazines. Your father’s parties were always extravagant—charity galas, fundraisers, business networking events filled with well-dressed adults sipping expensive wine. But this? This was different.

A high school party. Someone’s parents were out of town, and the place was packed—loud music, red Solo cups littering every surface, bodies pressed together in dimly lit rooms. You weren’t out of place, not really. You were popular, had plenty of friends, and knew how to navigate a crowd like this.

Somewhere between the dancing and the laughter, you left your drink unattended. Just for a moment. Long enough.

When you took another sip, you noticed the taste was off—bitter, metallic, something that didn’t belong. But maybe it was just the alcohol mixing wrong, or maybe you’d grabbed the wrong cup. You weren’t sure. Either way, you drank it.

Now, something was wrong.

Your body felt heavy, limbs sluggish like they weren’t quite yours. The voices around you blurred into a distant hum, the flashing party lights smearing together in dizzying streaks. The floor beneath you seemed to tilt, and when you tried to focus on someone’s face, their features warped and twisted out of reach.

You tried to stand, but your knees buckled. No one noticed as you stumbled toward the nearest wall, slumping down onto the floor. Your heart pounded too fast, panic curling at the edges of your mind, but your thoughts were slow, sluggish. What’s happening to me?

And the guy who did this? He was long gone—passed out drunk somewhere, oblivious. You weren’t his target anymore. But that didn’t change the fact that you were here, helpless.