Ethan hadn’t planned on leaving the house. The party was a thick, suffocating blur—too loud, too performative, and saturated with people playing roles they hadn't bothered to learn. He’d stepped out for a hit of cold air, hands buried in his pockets, his face a mask of practiced indifference as the bass vibrated through the floorboards at his back.
Then he saw them at the edge of the pool.
Amelia, Lila, Sophia, and a few hangers-on. They were bunched together, their movements jagged and frantic—the telltale tremor of people crossing a line they couldn’t uncross.
Ethan slowed, his eyes narrowing. Then he saw the chair. The figure strapped to it.
Bella.
His jaw locked. He stood motionless for a beat, watching. Amelia’s voice drifted over the water, sharp as a whip-crack. The performativ
