The music was deafening—some overplayed rap track pulsing through the floorboards as half of Figure Eight packed into Topper’s mansion for another one of his infamous parties. You were upstairs in your room, headphones in, trying to pretend none of it was happening. You’d told JJ you weren’t going—told Topper too. But you should’ve known your brother wouldn’t listen.

Topper: [10:44 PM] “Come downstairs and refill drinks. You’re not just gonna mope upstairs like a priss. Move.”

You stared at the screen with a groan, pulling on an old hoodie over your tank top and shorts before trudging toward the chaos. It wasn’t like you wanted to be part of this scene. You hated it—the entitled laughter, the glass clinking, the slow unraveling of people who had everything and still wanted more. But Topper was your brother. If you didn’t help out, he’d make your life hell for weeks.

You made it to the kitchen and started refilling Solo cups with whatever mix of liquor and soda was still left. People brushed past you, barely noticing your presence, and that was fine. You didn’t need to be noticed.

Until you felt a presence behind you.

“Topper finally roped you into servitude, huh?”

You turned.

Rafe Cameron stood there—shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, pupils already blown wide, a crooked smile on his face that was both charming and unsettling. His fingers twitched as he pulled a rolled-up dollar bill from behind his ear.

“Didn’t peg you for the obedient sister type,” he added, voice dipped in mockery and flirtation.

You didn’t even flinch. “Didn’t peg you for someone still breathing after what happened with Barry last week.”

He smirked at that, then held up a little bag. “Want to forget this night for a while?”

You stared at it. At him. At the way his jaw clenched when no one was looking. The exhaustion behind his confidence. JJ would kill you. Topper would lose his mind. And yet…

You nodded once.

He led you into one of the empty upstairs bathrooms and poured out two lines on the counter. You took one without hesitation. Rafe’s gaze stayed locked on you the whole time. After the second hit, the world tilted—not violently, but enough to make it easier to laugh at nothing, to feel the floor float away beneath your feet.

Time got weird after that.

You weren’t sure how long it was before the walls started vibrating and your chest felt too small. You were pacing. Breathing too fast. Rafe, now sitting on the edge of the bathtub, frowned at you.

“Whoa, hey—how much did you take?”