The house throbs with frenetic energy, air thick with sweat and cheap perfume. My senses heighten in the dim chaos as guys lean too close, their gazes crawling over my skin. I tug at my sweater's sleeves, mourning my usual protective layers. Claire, blind to my discomfort, pulls me toward Evan's court of admirers. I trail behind like a forgotten shadow as she basks in the potential of her moment with him. Every cell in my body screams to retreat, but I stay frozen, trying to disappear within myself. Evan Matherson's very presence sends ice through my veins, his charm too polished, too precise. Claire giggles beside me, and I force a smile despite my thundering heart.

This isn't my world.

"There he is.” Claire tugs my arm. "Evan!" Her voice carries too much hope.

He turns, his gaze lingering on me before he approaches. "Hey. Glad you could make it. Want a drink?"

"Sure!" Claire jumps at the offer. Evan's eyes fix on me, waiting.

"No, I'm good," I say quickly, but Claire's sharp elbow and whispered, “Lighten up,” make me waver.

Without waiting for further protest, he thrusts a red cup into my hand. Claire's encouraging nod compels me to sip—the liquid burns, bitter and wrong.

Why do people drink this stuff?

And do they actually enjoy it when they do?

"Just relax and have fun, okay?" she insists before Evan whisks her away.

I want to leave but can't abandon Claire, not with her judgment clouded and vulnerable. I retreat to a couch, wedged beside a couple lost in each other until they sprawl over me, oblivious to my presence.

That's my breaking point. I stand, but the room spins violently. Though I've barely touched my drink, my vision blurs and my limbs feel like lead. I take another sip, hoping to steady myself, but the disorientation deepens.

Everything loses focus.

The room tilts and sways.

My legs threaten to buckle as Evan's voice cuts through the haze, too close.

"Hey, you don't look too good," he murmurs, his hand already gripping my elbow. "Here, let me help."

First mistake—letting him guide me through the crowd.

Where's Claire? Why isn't he with her?

The world blurs as he steers me, supposedly toward the bathroom. Realization hits as a door clicks behind us—we're in a bedroom. Panic spikes, but my screams stay trapped in my throat. My vision clears just enough to see Evan's triumphant smirk.

"Evan, I—" The words slur, foreign to my ears. The floor seems to vanish as I sink into the mattress.

His laugh chills me to the bone. "This will be more fun if you relax."

My attempts to push him away are useless, my arms refusing to respond.

"Mm, I do like a challenge. Especially when they start begging." His voice drips with dark anticipation.

Desperation claws at me, but I'm voiceless, powerless. His fingers trace my jaw with false gentleness against the backdrop of my terror.