CHAPTER 13: THE INVASION
1656 Words
The motorcycle pulled up to the heavy iron gates of the Weller estate just as the last purple hues of twilight were swallowed by the night. Ethan killed the engine, letting the bike coast to a smooth halt on the gravel.
"Thanks for the ride, Ethan," Eloise said, sliding her helmet off and carefully holding her half-finished strawberry milkshake. Her cheeks were still flushed with a warm, happy glow from their afternoon at the studio.
"Anytime, rockstar," Ethan smiled, his soft dark curls bouncing slightly as he took the helmet from her. But instead of revving the engine to leave, he lingered, his warm hazel eyes scanning the dark driveway before landing back on her. He rubbed the back of his neck, a sudden, curious tension settling over his handsome features. "Hey, Eloise... can I ask you something? Since you're living on the estate and all."
Eloise blinked, surprised. "Sure. What's up?"
"What's it actually like? You know... living with Mike?" Ethan asked, trying to sound casual, but there was a distinct, eager hunger in his voice that he couldn't quite hide. "Like, what's he like when the school walls are down? Is he always that intense? Everyone in our year talks about him like he's untouchable, but you actually see the real version. I've always thought it would be cool to, you know, actually get to know him. Hang out with the varsity crowd properly."
A small, uneasy knot twisted in Eloise’s stomach. Hearing Ethan—her safe, artsy sanctuary—sound so desperate to be in Mike's orbit felt like a sudden splash of cold water. He didn't just want to help her with music; he was fascinated by the elite world she was trying to escape.
"He's exactly who he shows the world, Ethan," Eloise said quietly, her voice dropping into a guarded tone. "Arrogant, controlling, and loud. You aren't missing out on anything."
Ethan looked a bit deflated, but he quickly forced a smile, tucking a loose copper strand of her hair behind her ear. "Right. Yeah, of course. Well, I'll see you at the shop on Monday, Eloise."
As the motorcycle roared to life and sped away, Eloise turned toward the compound, pulling her oversized charcoal crewneck tighter around herself. She just wanted to get to the guest house, lock her door, and enjoy the remaining high of her perfect day.
But as she walked past the main tree line, a booming, vibrating bass line began to shake the very ground beneath her feet.
Eloise froze. The entire Weller estate was lit up like a stadium. Bass was thumping so hard the glass windows of the main mansion were visibly rattling. The expansive lawns were completely overrun. Dozens of sleek sports cars and lifted trucks were parked haphazardly all over the manicured grass, and hundreds of teenagers—Oakridge High students, rival Westbridge jocks, and older college kids holding red plastic cups—were spilling out across the property. It was a massive, uncontained rager.
No, no, no, Eloise panicked internally, her heart hammering against her ribs. She didn't want any part of this.
Keeping her head down, she completely bypassed the chaotic crowd on the main lawn and sprinted down the dark gravel path toward the detached guest house, praying her sanctuary had been spared from the madness.
She pushed the cottage door open, and her jaw instantly dropped. The invasion had already crossed the border.
The living room was packed. College guys in fraternity sweatshirts were doing beer goggles on the coffee table, girls in tight crop tops were laughing loudly on the sofa, and the air was thick with the scent of cheap alcohol and vape smoke. The sanctity of her home was entirely gone.
Desperate for peace, Eloise pushed through the sweaty, dancing bodies, her hazel eyes wide with a helpless, suffocating anxiety. She scrambled up the narrow wooden staircase, rushing toward her bedroom. If she could just lock herself inside her own room, she could survive the night.
She grabbed her bedroom doorknob, twisted it, and shoved the door open.
"Oh my god!" Eloise shrieked, the strawberry milkshake slipping from her hand and shattering against the hardwood floor.
The room was dimly lit by her bedside lamp. On her literal mattress, tangled up in her white duvet, were two completely random college students caught in the middle of a loud, unbothered hookup. The guy looked up, his eyes bleary and annoyed, while the girl let out a breathless, drunken giggle.
"Hey, close the door, chick," the guy slurred, waving a hand dismissively at her.
A violent, scorching wave of pure, unadulterated fury and humiliation crashed through Eloise’s chest. Her room. Her bed. The one place where she felt safe had been utterly desecrated.
"Get out! Get the hell out of my room!" Eloise screamed, her voice cracking with emotion.
The guy rolled his eyes, completely unbothered, and lazily reached for his jeans on the floor. "Alright, relax, psycho. We're leaving."
But as the girl stumbled out of the bed, trailing her hand carelessly along the nightstand, she grabbed a half-filled plastic cup of warm, sticky jungle juice. She looked at Eloise's furious face, flipped her bleached hair, and let out a cruel, drunken laugh. "You're a real buzzkill, you know that?"
With a vicious flick of her wrist, the girl splashed the sticky, alcohol-laden fluid directly across Eloise’s chest.
The cold, sweet liquid soaked right through Eloise's cream ribbed baby tee, staining the fabric and dripping down her chocolate-brown corduroy pants. Shocked and gasping from the sudden assault, Eloise instinctively stepped backward, but her boot caught on the shattered glass and spilled milkshake near the doorway.
Her feet slipped entirely out from under her.
Eloise hit the hardwood floor hard, landing on her hands and knees right in the middle of the sticky mess. Down the hallway, a group of high school seniors who had witnessed the whole thing burst into loud, mocking laughter, pointing at her as she sat humiliated on the floor.
The college couple casually pushed past her, laughing under their breath as they headed down the stairs, leaving her alone in the debris of her own bedroom.
Tears of absolute, burning rage stung the corners of Eloise's eyes. She sat there for three seconds, her hands shaking against the floor, feeling smaller and more degraded than she ever had in her life. But as she looked down at the alcohol soaking into her favorite clothes, the helplessness completely shattered, replaced by a white-hot, lethal fury.
She stood up, ignoring the stinging scrapes on her palms. She didn't wipe the tears away. She let them burn.
Sprinting down the stairs, she burst out of the cottage doors into the cool night air, her hands trembling violently as she stormed toward the main mansion. She didn't care who saw her. She was going to find the person responsible for this nightmare. She was going to find Mike Weller.
She marched up the back patio steps of the main house, shoving past a group of varsity lacrosse players who tried to make a joke about her stained shirt. She ignored them entirely, storming straight into the massive, high-ceilinged kitchen.
There, standing by the marble island surrounded by a crowd of cheering jocks, was Mike. He was holding a drink, looking effortlessly dominant in his black streetwear hoodie, his sharp jawline tight as he laughed at a comment Jake made.
"Mike!" Eloise yelled, her voice cutting through the kitchen's roar like a gunshot.
The varsity players instantly went quiet, tracking the furious, disheveled girl standing at the edge of the kitchen. Mike froze, his piercing blue eyes snapping toward her. The second his gaze locked onto her pale face—seeing the tear tracks, the damp, alcohol-stained patch clinging to her chest, and the raw, shaking anger in her frame—his careless jock demeanor completely evaporated. His entire body went rigid.
"Gilbert?" Mike muttered, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly serious tone as he stepped away from the island, his drink completely forgotten. "What the hell happened to your shirt? What's wrong?"
"Your friends—your disgusting, trashy friends are in my house!" Eloise shouted, walking right up to him, completely unbothered by the crowd watching them. She poked a furious, trembling finger right into his broad chest. "There were people having s*x in my literal bed, Mike! And when I told them to leave, they poured alcohol all over me and pushed me to the floor while everyone laughed! You told me to keep out of your kitchen, but you let your entire school ruin the only place I have left to live! I hate you, and I hate your stupid world!"
The kitchen went dead silent. Jake’s jaw dropped, and Chad’s dark brows furrowed deeply as he stepped forward, his gruff demeanor turning sharp.
Mike didn't say a word. But as the words poured alcohol all over me and pushed me to the floor left her lips, the blue in his eyes vanished, replaced by an icy, terrifying, lethal darkness. The protective, possessive instinct he had been trying to suppress all week didn't just snap—it exploded. A dangerous, suffocating aura settled over his massive frame, his fists clenching so tightly his knuckles turned paper-white.
He didn't look at the crowd. He kept his eyes locked squarely on her trembling, stained form, his jaw ticking violently.
"Jake," Mike said, his voice deadly quiet, vibrating with a raw, unhinged power that made every single athlete in the kitchen instantly straighten up. "Clear the guest house. Now. If anyone is still inside that cottage in sixty seconds, I’m breaking their jaw."
- Writer
