I make it all the way to the opposite side of the roof before I crash down on a wicker sofa. The air feels cooler, and the music doesn’t take up all the space in my head anymore.

But someone fills in the gaps.

Digging my phone out of my pocket, I check out the view. One I haven’t seen of the city. I know just who I want to share it with.

I unlock my screen but never make it to my camera. I smile. Remi beat me, sending a video twenty minutes ago.

With no one else around, I hit play and slouch deeper into the cushions. I squint at the screen, unsure what the hell I’m seeing. The shot is dim, random shapes and harsh shadows. An eerie scream plays in the background followed by the sound of chains clanking together.

It starts to come together once I catch the curve of shimmery black fabric and a slice of bare skin toward the bottom. Two things I excel at noticing—a skirt and legs. Another part of the screen shows the same but from a different angle. She must move then because it all shifts. Once it settles, the smooth line of her arm fractures across the screen, tilted in different directions.

Mirrors.

She’s in a room of mirrors.

As if she’d timed how long I would take to figure it out, the shot pulls back, more of Remi visible until I have multiple reflections of her from the waist down. I have to piece them together for the full picture. Her fingers wrap around the back of a sparkly blue phone case, maroon nails to match the origination of my foot fetish. An upside-down fragment gives me the curves beneath a tight black dress. An angled view of the short skirt flares over her hips with the glimmer of iridescence in the fabric. Gorgeous legs disappear into boots with way too many straps.

“I want to try something,” she says, and I sigh at her voice.

I might be slightly drunk now, but I am just as caught up in her sober. She wouldn’t scrape. Not a chance in hell.

Everything morphs on my screen until only a close-up reflection of her shoulder and a thin black strap remain. I hear her exhale, and the mirror fogs over. A few seconds later, it starts dissipating. Then Remi’s silhouette begins to fade in. More than a sexy curve or a flash of skin. All of her. Every fucking part.

“Remi,” I mumble, a place inside me settling.

The video cuts off right before the mirror fully clears, and I groan, already typing out the message.

Why do you hurt me like this?

I blow out a breath and stand, bringing up my camera. The skyline glides across the screen while I turn a 360 to record. Not nearly as artistic, but she’ll get what she gets after that bullshit.