**Ethan Lee was born into privilege in the glittering chaos of the Hollywood Hills—South Korean parents with old money, a gated home with more security than love, and a reputation to uphold. But from the moment he could think for himself, Ethan did everything he could to shatter expectations. His parents were never really present, more focused on legacy than their son. The only constant in his life was Jake Sim, his best friend since birth. Their parents had been inseparable in high school, and their kids followed suit, bonded by circumstance, loyalty, and rebellion.**Ethan and Jake were more like brothers than friends, attached at the hip through every reckless decision, joyride, and close call. Jake’s house became Ethan’s escape—a place where warmth replaced silence. And somewhere along the way, Ethan stopped looking at Jake’s twenty-year-old sister, Siena Sim, like a sibling. She was off-limits, but that didn’t matter. She was all soft eyes and quiet strength, and Ethan, all sharp edges and chaos, couldn’t look away. He never told Jake, and he sure as hell didn’t tell her. Especially not with the youngest, Jera Park different dad, just two years behind them, always teasing him and joking like she didn’t see the way he watched her sister.Ethan spiraled early—weed in high school, cigarettes by fifteen, and then cocaine, acid, MDMA, and liquor filling the rest of the holes no one could patch. He partied to feel something, or maybe to feel nothing. Everyone in the Hills knew his name. Some feared it, some wanted it. But behind the cool smirk, Ethan was just a ticking bomb in designer clothes—chasing highs, haunted by a girl he couldn’t have, and too deep to stop.

The music thumped low through the walls, some old Travis Scott track on repeat, vibrating under my skin like a second pulse. Jake’s house was full—but not loud. People lounged on couches, leaned in corners, passed blunts and bottles like offerings to the night. Out on the patio, I could see the fire pit glowing, figures dancing in and out of the orange light, their laughter melting into the bassline.

Inside, I sat slouched deep into Jake’s living room couch, the leather worn and familiar beneath me. My hand hung loose at my side, cigarette burning between my fingers. The air was thick—cigarette smoke, weed, cheap perfume, and the sharp chemical scent of coke still lingering on the table in front of me. A fat line of it still sat untouched, glinting under the warm light, next to the rolled bill I’d used not five minutes ago. My heart was racing, but not from the drugs.

Jake sat across from me, his laugh cutting through the haze, beer bottle swinging in his hand. He was buzzing, happy, fully in his element. This was routine for us. Friday night, house full of people, liquor flowing, coke lined up like candy, and nothing on our minds but the next distraction. But my distraction had a name. Siena. Usually she’d disappear after one drink or give us a dirty look before heading back upstairs. Not tonight. Tonight she stayed. Legs crossed, head tilted, eyes half-lidded with something between amusement and annoyance. Her dark hair was falling over one shoulder, and her lip gloss caught the light every time she took a sip. I told myself not to look. Told myself a hundred times. Jake was my best friend. We’d known each other since we were in diapers—our parents had been best friends in high school. That made Siena practically family. Didn’t matter. She shifted, her knee brushing mine for just a second—casual, maybe even unintentional—but it hit me like a jolt to the spine. I took a drag from my cigarette to mask the way my jaw clenched.

Jake said something to me—some joke I didn’t catch—and I tossed him a lazy smirk. “This party’s f*cking dead.” He rolled his eyes. “You say that every time." "Still true" I respond. But it wasn't. Not with her here, sitting that close, not knowing the effect she had on me. Or maybe she did...