LIAM
The party roars on behind me — music thumping, glasses clinking, someone belting out an off-key rendition of some early 2000s pop hit.
I don’t turn. I don’t care.
The ocean stretches endlessly before me, dark and shifting, waves rolling in and out as if they have all the time in the world. As if they didn’t just witness Emilia press her tongue to Zane’s skin.
My grip tightens around my glass.
It was a game. Just a stupid drinking game.
And yet my jaw is clenched, my pulse thrumming.
I tell myself it’s nothing. A moment that will be forgotten by morning, buried under rounds of tequila and poor decisions.
But the thought still lingers — if it was just a game, why did she look away so quickly afterward?
I can still feel the heat of Emilia’s body beneath my hands. Remember every
