"What the hell!"
That voice.
Dominic Vale.
He was staring down at his soaked shirt like I'd just poured acid on a designer suit. His eyes dragged over me, like I was dirt under his shoe.
"I…I'm sorry," I said quickly. My voice cracked. "I didn't mean to….I'm so, so sorry."
Then the music stopped.
Like someone pulled the plug.
The bass vanished. The laughter cut off. And suddenly, all I could hear was the pounding of my heartbeat, loud in my ears like a war drum.
My whole body froze.
It all went silent, like someone hit pause on the entire night. Every head turned toward me.
I could feel my chest tightening, my hands shaking around the tray.
I waited for him to lash out. To say something. But he didn't. He just stood there. Silent. Calm. Watching me with this cold, crooked smirk that made my stomach twist like he was enjoying watching me squirm.
That was when another voice broke through.
"You've got five seconds to explain why you're still breathing."
It came from behind him.
I looked up too fast. It was one of them.
Ian Petrova. Another golden boy. Another member of their golden little circle, the one that always wears leather jacket. His hair was jet black with silver stripes, slicked back like he lived the past century. Cruel brown eyes, shining behind the smoke of the cigarette hanging behind his ear like he was waiting to burn something.
Or someone.
He was already grinning.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, but something inside me cracked. Maybe it was the fear. Maybe it was how everyone was staring like I was prey. Maybe it was just everything…my mom, my sister, this night I never wanted to be at.
"I said I'm sorry," I muttered again, lowering my head. "It was an accident. It's not like I did it on purpose."
There was a loud, collective gasp. Like I'd just cursed at the pope.
People looked at each other in shock. Then came the whispers.
"He's talking back?"
"Is he serious?"
"Does he know who he's talking to?"
And then…laughter.
Cruel psychotic laughter. Ian stepped closer. His shadow fell over me as he reached out and grabbed a fistful of my hair.
He yanked it hard. My scalp burned.
I winced, gritted my teeth.
"Wait….I know this guy," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear.
My eyes watered.
"Isn't this the little charity case from school?" Ian sneered.
More gasps. More murmurs.
"Yeah, that's him. The scholarship loser."
I didn't say anything. I couldn't. The shame….the humiliation. I wanted to disappear…. Suddenly vanish into thin air.
Ian brought the cigarette closer. Just inches from my face. The smoke burned my eyes.
"You ever had one of these shoved in your eye?" he asked, smiling like a psycho. "I'd love to try."
I panicked.
"Please," I whispered, turning to Dominic. "Dom… I didn't mean….please tell him to stop…" My mouth was shaking.
But Dominic just stood there.
He was still standing there. Watching. His face blank. He hadn't said a word. Not even a twitch.
People were watching….waiting for him to say something. To tell Ian to back off. But he didn't. He just stood there like he was watching a movie.
And I was the scene.
Ian tossed a napkin at me like it was trash.
"Clean his shirt. Then scrub the floor with it. And don't stop… until we say so."
I didn't move.
So Ian grabbed my wrist and twisted it.
Hard.
Pain shot through my arm. I nearly dropped to my knees, biting down on my tongue to stop myself from screaming.
My hands shook as I reached for the napkin.
And that's when everything shifted.
Phones were pulled out. Lights clicked on. Camera flashes. Laughter.
"Look at him, shaking."
"Little Ashhole's about to cry."
"Better scrub, servant boy!"
I stood there, frozen.
A tray of broken glass at my feet.
My pride in pieces.
And every camera lens aimed right at me.
I wanted to disappear. I wanted to scream. I wanted to punch someone and cry at the same time.
"Enough."
The word cut through the noise.
Everyone froze.
Heads turned. Conversations died mid-laugh. The chanting stopped.
Like the house knew someone had just stepped in who shouldn't be ignored.
Everyone in the room turned.
And then I saw him.
Blonde hair, not too neat, but not messy either. He had that soft, lean build that didn't look threatening… but still somehow made people move out of his way. A white half button-up shirt hung open at the collar, just enough to reveal a thin silver chain against his skin.
His glasses reflected the lights, but I could still see his eyes.
His eyes….icy gray, cool as winter.
Liam Everhart.
Another member of the Glass Circle.
They called him the "adorable one." The smiley golden boy with dimples. The one who always looked harmless…like he didn't fit in with the wolves around him.
But right now, there was no smile.
He looked pissed. Or maybe just irritated. Like all of this was beneath him.
He scanned the scene….me on my knees, Dominic still stone-faced, Ian with a fist half-cocked…and his jaw tensed.
"It's a party," Liam said. "Not a public execution."
He looked at me. Then straight at Dominic.