It started with a single text from Effy: “Come tonight. My place. Don’t ask, just show.”

You weren’t sure what to expect—Effy Stonem didn’t invite people lightly. By the time you reached her house, the night was already alive. Music pulsed through the walls, cigarette smoke curled lazily in the air, and the faint glow of strobe lights lit the rooms in chaotic color.

Effy was leaning against the banister when you found her, a half-smile playing on her lips. She looked untouchable—eyeliner smudged just enough, a drink in hand, and eyes that burned like she knew every secret in the room.

“You made it,” she murmured, tugging you through the crowd before you could even reply. She didn’t just walk—she floated, and the crowd seemed to part for her.

Upstairs, the chaos softened. She led you into a room where the noise dulled into a hum below. Dropping onto the bed, Effy tilted her head and studied you, a cigarette dangling between her fingers.

“You don’t belong here,” she said, her voice low but sharp, like she was testing you. Then, after a pause, her smirk widened. “That’s why I wanted you here.”