Chapter 1

Summer's Pov

“He broke up with me again!!”

Ruby's voice cracks on the word again, and before I can even process what she's saying, she's throwing herself into my arms like the world just ended. Her whole body shakes with sobs, mascara already streaking down her perfect cheeks, and I catch her weight automatically even though I've been through this exact scene approximately seventeen times in the past year.

"I can't believe we aren't going to get married anymore," she wails into my shoulder, and I have to bite my tongue to keep from saying what we're all thinking: you were never getting married, Ruby. You're seventeen.

Over her head, I catch Ty's eye. He's sprawled on my bed with his physics textbook, and the look he gives me is pure *here we go again*. I shoot him a desperate *help me* expression, but he just shrugs with this awkward, apologetic smile that basically screams *you're on your own, Winters*.

Traitor.

"Ruby," I say softly, rubbing circles on her back like I always do. "It's okay. You're going to be okay. You're beautiful and smart and he's an idiot for doing this to you."

"But I love him so much." She pulls back, gripping my arms with surprising strength for someone who's supposed to be devastated. "I can't do this without him, Summer. I've been calling and calling and he won't pick up. He won't even look at my messages."

"You'll be fine," I promise, even though we both know she'll be back with Cain by next weekend. "I'm here for you, okay? I'm here."

Ruby's always been the dramatic one. Her relationship with Cain is a toxic cycle of breakups and makeups that would exhaust anyone else, but Ruby thrives on the chaos. Me? I just want to survive high school with my scholarship intact and my sanity somewhat functional.

Then, like a switch flipping, Ruby's tears stop.

She pulls away from me, wiping her face with the back of her hand, and I watch her entire demeanor shift from heartbroken to determined in approximately three seconds.

"You know what?" She stands up straight, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "I'm done crying over this guy. I'm done."

Uh oh.

"Honestly, I just need a drink." She turns to look at both of us, and there's a manic gleam in her eyes that I recognize immediately. "We need to go out. There's a party tonight and we're going."

My stomach drops. "Ruby…."

"You both are coming with me," she announces, pointing at Ty and then at me. "I need to get this out of my system. I need your support."

"No," Ty says immediately, closing his textbook. "I feel like this should be girl time. You two should go."

"You're right." Ruby nods vigorously. "Boys. Ugh. I hate men right now."

I shoot Ty a look that very clearly says “What the hell, man?” He just gives me this apologetic shrug, and I want to throw something at his head.

Ruby turns her full attention on me. "Summer. Please come with me."

"I have to study," I say quickly, gesturing to the stack of textbooks on my desk. "We have that test on Monday, and it's really important. I can't afford to—"

"Stop it." Ruby waves her hand dismissively. "You're literally at the top of our class. You know everything already. Just let loose for one night. Come with me. Please."

"I really can't, Ruby."

"Please." She gives me those puppy dog eyes, the ones she knows I can never say no to, and I feel my resolve crumbling. "Please, Summer. I need you."

I hesitate. The test really is important. My scholarship depends on maintaining straight A's—not even B's are acceptable. One slip and I could lose everything my mom and I have worked for.

But Ruby's looking at me like I'm her lifeline, and god, I'm such a pushover.

"Fine," I sigh.

"Yes! Thank you thank you thank you!" Ruby launches herself at me again, this time with excitement instead of tears. "Okay, we need to get dressed right now."

Ty leaves with another apologetic look as Ruby attacks my closet like a woman possessed.

"No," I say immediately when she pulls out a tight black dress that shows way too much cleavage. "I'm not wearing that."

"Yes, you are." She shoves it into my hands. "I'm dressing you up tonight. And you're taking off those glasses. Just for tonight, please. Free up a little, babe. I want us to vibe."

I look down at the dress, then back at Ruby's determined face. 

"Okay," I say quietly, because apparently I've lost all ability to stand up for myself tonight.

Twenty minutes later, I'm tugging at the hem of the dress, trying to make it cover more of my thighs. It's short. Way too short. And the neckline makes me feel exposed in a way that has nothing to do with the cold.

"Leave it," Ruby says, swatting my hands away. "It looks perfect like that. You look hot."

I don't feel hot. I feel uncomfortable and vulnerable and like I'm wearing someone else's skin.

But Ruby's already dragging me out the door, so I guess this is happening.

****

The party is exactly what I expected, loud music, too many people, and the distinct smell of cheap beer and expensive cologne mixing in the air. Bodies press together on the makeshift dance floor, and somewhere in the chaos, I can hear people screaming the lyrics to a song I don't recognize.

Ruby disappears within five minutes.

I watch her melt into the crowd, already dancing with some guy whose hands are way too low on her hips, and I realize with a sinking feeling that I've been abandoned. She needed me for moral support, apparently, but now that we're here, she's forgotten I exist.

Great.

I make my way to the bar area, dodging drunk couples and trying not to trip in these ridiculous heels Ruby forced me into. The bartender looks at me expectantly, but I just shake my head and pull out my phone. I downloaded a P*F of Monday's reading material earlier, and if I'm going to be stuck here, I might as well be productive.

The music is loud enough to shatter glass, but I've always had this weird ability to focus anywhere. It's a survival skill I developed after years of studying in our cramped apartment while my mom watched TV in the next room.

I'm three pages into the reading when I feel someone sit down next to me.

I don't have to look up to know who it is. There's this particular energy that follows Crew Ashford everywhere, this magnetic pull that makes everyone in the room aware of his presence. I can feel people's attention shifting, hear the whispers starting up.

God. Not here. Not at a party where none of our usual classmates should even be. What the hell is he doing here?

I keep my eyes on my phone, hoping that if I ignore him, he'll leave.

"Hey," his voice is smooth, confident. "Make it for me and this pretty girl right here."

I don't respond. I just scroll to the next page, highlighting a section about cellular respiration like it's the most fascinating thing I've ever read.

When the bartender slides a drink in front of me, I finally look up.

Crew is watching me with this amused smirk, all golden hair and sharp jawline and the kind of face that makes girls stupid. His hockey jacket is slung over one shoulder, and he's leaning against the bar like he owns it. Like he owns everything.

"Take the drink," he says.

"Thank you, Crew," I say flatly. "I don't want it."

I turn back to my phone.

For a second, I think he might actually leave me alone. It would be a miracle, but instead, he snatches my phone out of my hands.

"Come on," he says, and there's something dangerous in his smile now. "This is a party. Dance with me."

His hand lands on my waist, fingers pressing into the exposed skin where Ruby's dress rides up, and I feel my entire body go rigid.

"Please, Crew." I pull away from his touch, reaching for my phone. "I don't have time for this. Just let me be. Please. This isn't school…"

"Oh, come on." He steps closer, crowding into my space, and his hand is back on me, thumb stroking along my hip in a way that makes my skin crawl. "Don't be so uptight. I want to dance with you. You know this is a privilege, right? Everybody wants to dance with me."

"I don't want to dance with you." The words come out sharper than I intended, but I'm so tired of this. "I don't feel like dancing with you. Even if I wanted to dance with someone, it definitely wouldn't be you."

The temperature in the air changes immediately.

I see it in his eyes, the shift from amused to something darker. And I realize, too late, that I've made a terrible mistake. At school, I keep my head down. I stay invisible. I never, ever challenge Crew even with his mistreatment in school.

But apparently my mouth didn't get that memo today.

"Don't talk to me like that, Summer." His voice is low now, dangerous. "You're going to get up like a good girl and get yourself on that stage and dance. Now."

"I won't."

He grabs my arm, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, and tries to pull me up.

Something in me snaps.

I grab the drink he ordered, the one I didn't want, the one he insisted on and I throw it directly in his face.

The liquid hits him square in the chest, soaking into his expensive shirt, dripping down onto his equally expensive jeans. 

The entire party seems to freeze.

I watch the alcohol darken his clothes, watch his expression transform from shock to pure rage, and I know—I *know*—that I've just made the worst mistake of my life.

Everyone's staring. Every single person from Blackwood Prep who happens to be here is watching this moment, watching me destroy their golden boy, and I can already hear the whispers starting.

Crew looks down at his ruined clothes, then back up at me.

"You shouldn't have done that." His voice is quiet. Deadly. "You shouldn't have done that, Summer."

His friends materialize out of nowhere, two of his hockey teammates, his usual minions, all looking at me like I just committed murder.

"Dude, what the hell happened?"

"Did she just…"

But Crew isn't listening to them. He's staring at me with an intensity that makes me want to run, want to disappear, want to be anywhere but here.

Then he moves.

He steps forward so fast I don't have time to react, and suddenly his hand is around my throat. Not squeezing, but the threat is clear. His face is inches from mine, and up close I can see the fury burning in his eyes.

"You're going to fucking regret your life," he says, each word deliberate and cold. "I will make you miserable. More and more. You're going to wish you were dead."

His fingers tighten just slightly, just enough for me to feel the pressure, to understand exactly what he's capable of.

Then he lets go.

He steps back, grabs his jacket, and walks away without another word.

I stand there, frozen, one hand coming up to touch my throat where I can still feel the ghost of his fingers.

What have I done?