Chapter 1: Betrayal Under the Party Lights

The wine burned down my throat, heat blooming under my skin as the party spun out of control. My head swam, and the crowd’s laughter echoed around me with an unreal sharpness, every joke and cackle a little too loud. Somewhere, a relentless Top 40 hit pounded from the speakers, the kind you couldn’t escape at any big suburban bash. The faint scent of barbecue smoke drifted in from the backyard, mingling with cheap perfume and cologne that clung to everyone’s clothes. I braced myself against the kitchen island, my palm leaving a sweaty smudge on the cool granite.

Suddenly, floating text—like live-stream chat bubbles—flashed right in front of my eyes.

[Girl, you have no clue. Tonight might be wild, but tomorrow you’ll wake up to the humiliation from that crazy main guy. He’ll be forced to marry you, blame you for driving away the real leading lady, and on your wedding night, he’ll even have a stranger take his place...]

[Don’t be dumb, supporting girl. Go find your cold, flower-boy cousin next door. He’s got a secret room with a thousand sketches of you, every possible pose.]

[Some people deserve to lose you. All cold and cocky by day, but at night, when the cravings hit, they cry and call your name.]

My vision fuzzed around the neon text, the words floating like a bad Snapchat filter only I could see. I blinked hard, but they wouldn’t disappear. It was so surreal I almost laughed, except my heart was hammering like I’d just run up three flights of stairs. Maybe the wine was stronger than I thought, or maybe something was really wrong.

Shaking, I knocked on the door of my cousin’s room—the one who always seemed as gentle as a spring breeze and as pure as the full moon, reserved and dignified.

A memory flared up through the haze: Evan, quiet at a family picnic, standing up for me when the older cousins teased me about my braces. Another time, him fixing my bike chain after everyone else had left me behind. He never said much, but in those small moments, I felt safe—like he saw me when no one else did. The memory made what I was about to do feel both right and impossibly bittersweet.

---

Thirsty.

My throat was parched and raw. Every breath scraped like sandpaper down my esophagus. I wanted to gulp down ice water, or better yet, stick my head in the freezer like I did after soccer practice when I was a kid.

Tears welled up—not just from thirst, but from the desperate need for someone else’s cool touch to douse the fire raging inside me.

The sensation was so fierce, my skin tingled with fever. I pressed my fingertips to my cheeks, searching for relief, but my hands were just as hot.

Something was wrong with the wine.

The taste hadn’t seemed off, but now my head buzzed and my mouth tasted metallic, like I’d bitten my tongue.

My vision blurred as I scanned the faces at the party.

Someone had started a game of beer pong in the garage, the clatter of ping pong balls echoing over the music. The air smelled like burnt burgers and cheap perfume. Glittering under the chandelier, everyone looked strange—like actors at a masquerade, each hiding secrets behind red Solo cups and polite smiles. I tried to focus on a familiar face, but the room kept spinning.

Who had spiked the wine? Did someone want to humiliate me in front of everyone and ruin my reputation?

My mind raced back to high school rumors, the cruel way stories spread on Instagram or Snapchat. The idea that someone here could be setting me up made my pulse race even faster.

I bit my lip, using the sting to hang onto my last bit of clarity.

It was an old habit—pain to anchor me. The metallic taste of blood shocked my senses for a second, staving off the dizziness.

Staggering, I hurried out to find Caleb, my childhood friend, who had come to the party with me.

He was the one person I could count on—at least, I thought so. I dodged a couple making out by the stairs and pushed open the back door, letting the crisp night air hit my skin.

Under the moonlight, behind the maple trees, I saw Caleb standing with another woman.

They were just silhouettes at first—Caleb’s tall, easy posture and the girl beside him in a pale sundress, her hair catching the porch light.

Before I could call out, my voice—soft and shaky, like someone grabbing for a lifeline—spoke his name.

My throat barely worked, and I sounded like a lost kid at a carnival. Still, I managed a whisper: “Caleb?”

Suddenly, those weird chat bubbles flashed before my eyes again.

The words flickered, casting a strange digital glow over the branches. I half-expected someone to laugh and say I’d lost my mind.

A chill ran through me, enough to momentarily cool the burning under my skin.

For a moment, the sharpness in the air brought back memories of autumns spent raking leaves with Caleb, the crispness signaling school starting again. Now, it just made me shiver.

I recognized the woman beside Caleb: Lillian Young, daughter of Judge Young, known for her talent and grace.

Of course it was her—Lillian, with her perfect posture and the polite way she smiled at everyone, even people she didn’t like. She was always the one teachers trusted to collect homework or organize fundraisers.

She was probably the heroine mentioned in those chat bubbles—the girl Caleb admired but never dared approach.

It all fit, even if it felt like I was living someone else’s story.

"Caleb, why aren’t you with Melissa?"

Her voice was light, not accusatory, just curious in that gentle, Southern-lilted way she had. It almost sounded like she was genuinely concerned for me.

The cool night breeze cleared my head a little, and I could hear their conversation.

It rustled the leaves above me, carrying their words straight to my burning ears. I felt invisible and exposed all at once.

Caleb sounded impatient and dismissive.

He had that sharp edge in his voice, the one he used when he thought nobody was listening—his private voice, unfiltered.

"Yeah, Melissa’s cute and all, but honestly? She’s just... always there, you know? Like, she acts like we’re already together. I can’t deal with that anymore.

She still thinks that, because our families go way back, she can marry me. Why would I ever marry her?"

His words landed like punches, each one confirming my worst fear. The ‘family history’ that had once felt special now sounded like a punchline.

Lillian smiled politely, her tone gentle.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and looked at him with an easy calm, like she was reassuring a stray puppy.

"So if you’re not into Melissa, what kind of girl are you actually looking for?"

She asked it without judgment, genuinely interested, like she was playing matchmaker instead of standing in the middle of my heartbreak.

Caleb, usually so cocky, now got serious.

He straightened his shoulders and looked away, his expression suddenly earnest. It was almost worse than his earlier dismissiveness.

"Someone like you—classy, put-together, elegant. Only a woman like that is good enough to bring home."

The words stung even more for how easily they came out. I could picture his mom nodding along, already planning the seating chart.