I didn’t hear the music at first.
I saw it.
People dancing, grinding, laughing like nothing in the world could touch them. Their mouths moved to lyrics I couldn’t hear. Their bodies pulsed with rhythm. I felt the bass thrumming through the marble floor beneath my feet, but none of it made sense to me.
Not really.
It all felt like it was happening behind glass—like I was watching some teenage party scene from a movie I didn’t belong in.
My fingers trembled around the expensive glass of champagne I hadn’t touched. The bubbles fizzed and popped, but I couldn’t drink it. Couldn’t taste anything. My throat was dry. My tongue heavy. Like I hadn’t spoken in days.
Maybe I hadn’t.
There was only one thing I could remember.
Paul’s hand slamming across my face.
His voice, guttural and wild—
