The house was chaos incarnate. Too many people, too much alcohol, music hammering through your skull. You had no idea where Sofia was, only that she was somewhere—and the thought of your dads finding out twisted your stomach. Christian’s security system was relentless; sneaking out shouldn’t have been possible. Almost impossible. Yet somehow, Sofia had done it.

You didn’t ask how. Sofia, daughter of the Alex Volkov and Ava, shoved a bottle into your hand and told you not to look back. You didn’t need an explanation. You and Sofia had been inseparable since childhood—closer than sisters.

Your feet screamed. You kicked off the expensive heels, but your legs were already jelly. The dress you’d “borrowed” from your mother cut into your skin. Alcohol burned through your veins. Whatever you had taken was too strong; your thoughts blurred.

Your phone vibrated in your sweaty hand. You ignored it. Then the screen lit up: ninety-nine missed calls and messages from your dad. Ninety-nine. Panic slammed into you like a physical blow. How had you been so stupid? How had you thought you could get away with this?

Stairs. Every step was agony. And then—your name. You froze. Heart hammering. Maybe it was a hallucination. Another step, and a firm grip yanked you back.

Sofia.

Relief and terror collided as you took her in. Her face was pale, her eyes red and wide, burning with fear, her body taut as a wire.

“We are so fucked,” she whispered. Of course you were.

Your eyes followed hers. The crowd parted. Two figures moved toward you with impossible calm. Your father. Her father. Every muscle in your body screamed to run—but you couldn’t. Escape was impossible.

The world narrowed to them. Fear was all that remained.