Chapter 2

A notification popped up at the top of my screen.

Patricia Sandler had a modest following as a travel blogger and liked to post about her trips.

She'd put up a carousel of photos, all of them shots of the two of them together at the beach.

Paxton's shoulder tilted slightly in every frame, blocking the sea breeze from hitting Patricia.

Patricia held up a cold drink with a lemon slice in it, grinning brightly.

The comments were already flooded with fans.

[Is Patricia finally making it official? That guy's profile is gorgeous!]

[That height difference is unreal. I'd let him step on me.]

Patricia replied with a shy, face-covering emoji.

Right after that, Paxton's account showed up in the comments too.

[Don't wander off. You don't know this place, and I'd hate for you to get lost.]

Patricia shot back instantly. [Even if I got lost, you'd come find me. I'm not scared.]

I stared at the screen, my fingers twitching on their own.

I opened Patricia's profile and kept scrolling down.

The timeline rolled back to New Year's Eve last year.

Paxton had told me he had to work through the night doing year-end accounts at the office.

I'd spent that night alone in my rented apartment, eating a frozen pot pie and watching the countdown on TV.

Patricia's post that same night showed fireworks blooming over a river, and the two of them holding hands tight.

The caption read: [New year, and he's still the one person I can always count on.]

This Valentine's Day, Paxton gave me a star projector.

He said he'd had someone make it just for me, even though I'd never shown any interest in stars.

Six months earlier, Patricia had posted a photo of the exact same projector.

Her caption: [He always knows exactly what I want.]

I closed my eyes. A metallic taste rose in the back of my throat.

I lifted my wrist and felt the silver bracelet there, the one with the GPS tracker built in.

When Paxton had put it on me himself, he'd said it meant he'd always know where I was, that he could find me anytime, anywhere.

I yanked the clasp until it snapped and threw the bracelet in the trash.

Three days later, the bandage on my ankle got changed for a fresh one, but it still ached faintly whenever I walked.

My mother had gone to a consulting agency to look into expediting the paperwork for me to study abroad.

Paxton had a spare key to my place. He let himself in, carrying a beautifully boxed Black Forest cake.

"Is your fever gone?"

"It's gone."

He set the cake down on the coffee table and reached out of habit to touch my hair.

"Your mom just got worked up because she was worried. I already apologized to her."

I turned my head away. He sighed, exasperated.

"Still sulking?"

"No."

I didn't even like sweets. Patricia was the one who loved cake.

"Go change. I'm taking you out."

"Where?"

"There's a new immersive escape room that opened on the south side of town. Patricia wants to go, and so do you."

I refused. "I'm not going."

His voice went cold, and he half-dragged me out the door.

"Patricia went out of her way to get you a ticket. She's trying to smooth things over between you two. If you don't go, who's going to want to take you anywhere after this?"

By the time we got to the escape room's lobby, Patricia was already waiting.

The second she saw me, she rushed over and tried to loop her arm through mine.

"Cleo, sweetie, I missed you so much! Paxton and I were off traveling for days, and I had no one to keep me company. Paxton's a jerk, so he doesn't count."

Paxton stepped in front of me. "She's got an injury on her foot. Don't go grabbing at her."

Patricia stuck out her tongue. "Fine, fine, Paxton's always playing favorites with Cleo."

"Obviously. Who else would I play favorites with, if not my own girlfriend?"

A staff member handed out blindfolds, and we all put them on, ready to head into the room.

I hung back at the rear, my hand resting on Paxton's shoulder.

Through the fabric of his shirt, I could feel him holding Patricia's hand, guiding her forward.

"Watch out, there's a step." His voice was barely a whisper, meant for the person ahead of him.

I stumbled and nearly fell. He didn't even turn around.