Liam's whisper still hums in my ear like a secret melody long after he drifts back into the crowd to grab drinks. Come visit me at UCLA this weekend. I've got a surprise for you. The words loop through my mind as I stand under the twinkle-lit archway, scrolling through the photos Zoey captured of us throughout the night.
They're perfect. Every single one. The lighting hits just right, our smiles are genuine and radiant, his arm around my waist looks natural and possessive all at once. These are the kind of images that will make my followers lose their minds—#CoupleGoals content that influencers would kill for. I can already picture the engagement rolling in once I post them, the comments gushing about how lucky I am, how perfect we look together.
But the warm bubble of contentment surrounding me pops the instant I hear the distinctive click of designer heels across the patio stones.
"Wow. Didn't this party turn out absolutely adorable?"
Madison.
My sister makes her entrance like she's walking a red carpet, fashionably late as always and completely unbothered by her timing. She's wrapped in a champagne-colored silk slip dress that probably costs more than my car payment, the fabric clinging to her tall, model-thin frame in ways that make every other girl at the party suddenly feel overdressed or underdressed. Her platinum hair—professionally lightened to a shade that somehow looks both expensive and effortless—catches the fairy lights overhead, every strand falling in perfect waves that took her stylist two hours to achieve.
She holds a designer clutch in one perfectly manicured hand, her phone already angled in the other like she's perpetually ready to capture the perfect candid shot for her story. Even arriving thirty minutes late to her sister's graduation party, Madison manages to look like the main character.
The air around us immediately shifts, becoming charged with the particular tension that only exists between sisters who've spent their entire lives being compared to each other.
I force my expression into something resembling a smile. "How nice of you to finally show up."
Madison's glossy lips curve upward in what might pass for a smile if you don't know her well enough to recognize the calculation behind it. "You know I couldn't possibly miss my baby sister's big night." Her voice drips with honeyed sweetness, but there's that familiar undertone I've been hearing since childhood—the one that always makes me feel twelve years old again, fumbling and awkward and somehow fundamentally lacking.
She leans in to kiss my cheek, the movement practiced and photo-ready, careful not to disturb her perfectly applied lipstick. The scent of her expensive perfume—something French and floral that costs more per ounce than most people spend on groceries—lingers in the air between us like a territorial marking.
"Besides," she adds with that trademark Madison shrug, "Mom would absolutely murder me if I didn't make an appearance. You know how she gets about family solidarity."
The translation is crystal clear to both of us: she's not here because she cares about my graduation, she's here because it would look bad if she skipped. Everything Madison does is calculated for maximum social benefit, even showing up to her sister's party.
I open my mouth to deliver some perfectly crafted retort, but then her gaze shifts. Slides past me with laser focus.
Directly to Liam.
And her smile changes completely. Becomes something sharper, more predatory. More interested.
"Well, well." Madison's voice drops to that purring register she reserves for situations where she's spotted something she wants. She takes a step closer, her heels clicking purposefully against the stone. "I didn't realize your mysterious college boyfriend was actually... cute."
The possessive way she says "cute" makes something cold and protective flare in my chest. "Madison, this is Liam. Liam, my sister."
Liam extends his hand with that easy, charming grin that won me over six months ago, though I notice it's a bit more cautious now. He's clearly picking up on the tension radiating between us. "Really nice to meet you, Madison. Avery talks about you all the time."
Madison takes his offered hand, but instead of a quick shake, she holds it just a beat too long. Her perfectly manicured nails—painted in some trendy nude shade that probably has a ridiculous name like "Millennial Anxiety"—catch the light as her fingers linger against his skin.
"The pleasure is entirely mine." Her voice has taken on that breathy quality she uses when she's flirting. "I've heard absolutely nothing but wonderful things."
"From me," I cut in quickly, my voice sharper than I intended. "Because I talk about him constantly. Because we're together. In a relationship."
Her eyes flick to mine, genuine amusement dancing in their depths like she's enjoying some private joke. "But of course. How could I forget?"
Zoey materializes beside us like she has some kind of supernatural sister-drama radar, her pink hair catching the light as she takes in the scene with calculating eyes. She mutters under her breath, just loud enough for me to hear, "Incoming family dysfunction," before taking a deliberate sip of her drink and positioning herself like she's ready to referee if things get ugly.
I square my shoulders and lift my chin, channeling every ounce of confidence I've built over the past two years. "Madison, don't you have some influencer brunch to attend tomorrow morning? Maybe save the passive-aggressive energy for your actual peers?"
But she's not even looking at me anymore. Instead, she's circling slightly, tilting her head as she studies Liam with the same intensity she usually reserves for evaluating potential Instagram content. "So you're at UCLA? That must be incredibly exciting for someone your age. So many new experiences. So many options." Her pause is deliberate, calculated. "So many pretty college girls."
The words land like tiny needles under my skin, each one perfectly placed to inflict maximum damage while maintaining plausible deniability. She's not technically saying anything wrong, just making observations, but the implication behind her tone is crystal clear.
Liam's arm immediately tightens around my waist, pulling me closer against his side in a gesture that feels both protective and reassuring. "None of them are prettier than Avery."
His response sends a rush of warmth through my chest, gratitude and love mixing together in a way that makes me want to kiss him right here in front of everyone. But Madison's expression doesn't falter even slightly. If anything, her smirk deepens, like his defense of me has only confirmed something she already suspected.
She picks up a champagne flute from the nearest table—trust Madison to locate the good alcohol at a high school graduation party—and takes a delicate sip before speaking again.
"College boys can be very... busy, though. So many demands on their time. So many social obligations. It must be hard to keep up with someone who's living such a different life."
The comment is almost identical to Zoey's warning from earlier in the week, but coming from Madison's perfectly glossed lips, it sounds less like concern and more like a threat. Like she knows something I don't and she's enjoying watching me squirm.
My jaw clenches so hard I'm surprised my teeth don't crack. "Thanks for the completely unsolicited relationship advice, sis. I think Liam and I are managing just fine without your input."
Madison's shoulders lift in an elegant shrug, her free hand gesturing airily like she's discussing the weather instead of trying to undermine my relationship at my own graduation party. "I'm just saying, college is a very... stimulating environment. Lots of opportunities to meet new people. Form new connections."
Her eyes flick between Liam and me like she's measuring something, calculating odds or distances I can't quite figure out.
Then she steps closer, lowering her voice to something that sounds almost sisterly, almost caring. "But I suppose if he makes you happy, that's really all that matters in the end, isn't it?"
On the surface, the words are completely appropriate. Supportive, even. The kind of thing you'd expect an older sister to say. But there's something in her tone that makes my stomach twist with unease, some subtle inflection that suggests she doesn't mean a word of it.
Liam shifts uncomfortably beside me, clearly picking up on the undercurrents of tension even if he can't quite decode them. He clears his throat, obviously searching for safer conversational ground. "So how's your college experience been treating you, Madison?"
Her eyes practically light up at the opportunity to talk about herself. "Oh, it's been absolutely incredible. So much busier than I expected, but in the best way. You meet the most interesting people when you put yourself out there. Especially when you're willing to be... adventurous."
The words hang in the air between us, loaded with implications I don't want to unpack. She takes another sip of champagne, looking extraordinarily pleased with herself.
Before I can demand an explanation of what exactly she means by "adventurous," Mom swoops in like some kind of maternal hurricane, gushing about how proud she is of both her daughters and insisting on a thousand more photos. The camera flashes as we're positioned and repositioned—me with Madison, me with Liam, Madison somehow managing to angle herself perfectly in every single shot while I'm still figuring out where to put my hands.
I smile through the entire ordeal, but by the end my jaw aches from the effort of maintaining the expression.
Later, when the crowd has thinned considerably and most of the neighbors have gone home, Madison finds us again near the dessert table. She's scrolling through her phone with the focused intensity of someone curating their social media presence in real time, her perfectly manicured nails tapping rhythmically against the screen.
"You two really do photograph beautifully together," she says without looking up from whatever she's editing. "Almost too perfectly, actually. Like you were made for a brand partnership or something."
The comment hits exactly wrong, reducing our relationship to content potential. "Jealous much?"
She finally glances up, that familiar smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. "Hardly. I just know how quickly things can change in the social media world. One day you're everyone's favorite couple, the next you're yesterday's drama. Especially when real life gets complicated."
Something cold settles in my chest. "What exactly is that supposed to mean?"
Madison's gaze shifts to Liam with surgical precision, her eyes scanning his face like she's reading a particularly interesting book. "Nothing specific. Just general observations about how... challenging long-distance can be. Especially with college boys."
She lifts her champagne glass to her lips again, and then, so casually that for a split second I think I must have imagined it, she adds:
"Anyway, I should probably head out soon. Early morning tomorrow. Have fun tonight, baby bear."
The pet name hits me like ice water.
My blood runs completely cold.
Because that's not my nickname. That's not even remotely close to anything anyone has ever called me.
That's his nickname. Liam's private nickname that he whispers when we're alone, when he's being soft and sweet and completely himself.
And the only possible way Madison could know it is if she's been close enough—intimate enough—to hear it directly from him.