AT THE PARTY NEXTDOOR BY MELLA

Stop squirming, Tyla. If you want to play with the big boys in Miami, you have to look the part." Summer's voice was like silk, but her hands were like iron as she yanked the zipper up the back of my dress. I gasped as the fabric squeezed my ribs. I turned to the full-length mirror and barely recognized the girl staring back. The dress was a mistake. It was a slip of crimson silk that looked more like lingerie than an outfit. The neckline plunged dangerously low, and the side slit reached nearly to my hip. It was "too much" in every sense of the word. "Summer, I can't wear this," I protested, tugging at the hem. "I look like I'm trying too hard. I look... desperate." "You look expensive," Summer corrected, stepping behind me. Her own dress was a conservative, high-necked white lace-virginal, pure, and calculated to make my red silk look scandalous by comparison. "Daniel Thorne told you to wear something better. If you show up in a hoodie, he'll think you're a child. This? This makes you a woman he can't ignore." She caught my eye in the reflection, her smile appearing warm, but her gaze remained as sharp as a razor. "Besides, I'm right here with you. I won't let anything happen." That's exactly what I'm afraid of, I thought. I checked my phone. 10:15 PM. The bass was already thumping through the wall, a rhythmic heartbeat that seemed to pulse in time with my own anxiety. We didn't even have to leave the floor. We just walked twenty feet down the hallway. The doors to 12B were wide open, guarded by two men who looked like they belonged in a private militia. The moment we stepped inside, the "student apartment" reality evaporated. The penthouse was a cathedral of glass and chrome. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the glittering sprawl of Miami, and the air was thick with the scent of expensive cigars, top-shelf gin, and the kind of perfume that cost more than a month's rent. People were everywhere,models, athletes, and the sons of billionaires, all moving like they owned the air they breathed. At the center of it all was Daniel. He was standing by a black marble bar, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. He wasn't wearing a jacket anymore. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle. He looked like a king surveying a kingdom he found slightly boring. Until his eyes found me. The conversation around him seemed to die as his gaze traveled over the red silk. It wasn't the dismissive look he'd given Summer. It was heavy. It was hot. It was the look of a man who had just seen something he intended to break. "Stay here," Summer whispered, her voice tight. "I'm going to grab us drinks." She disappeared into the crowd before I could protest. I stood there, feeling exposed and vulnerable, until a shadow fell over me. "You listened," Daniel rumbled. He didn't stand near me; he loomed. He placed a hand on the small of my back, his palm was searing through the thin silk, and began to guide me away from the main floor. "I thought you might be a rebel, Little Neighbor," he murmured, his voice cutting through the thumping music. "I thought I'd have to go over there and drag you out myself." "I'm only here because of the noise," I lied, my voice trembling. He led me behind a velvet curtain into a private VIP balcony. The noise of the party muffled instantly, replaced by the rush of the wind and the distant sound of the ocean. He didn't let go of my back. He pulled me toward the railing, then turned me around so I was trapped between the cold metal and his warm, solid chest. "Liar," he said softly. He leaned in, his face inches from mine. "You've been thinking about me all day. Just like I've been watching you." I blinked. "Watching me?" He gestured toward the glass partition that separated our balconies. "My bedroom overlooks your terrace. I saw you this afternoon, Tyla. Sitting out there with your book, trying so hard to pretend I don't exist. I saw the way you kept glancing at my door." My face burned. I hadn't realized how visible I was. "You're a stalker," I breathed. "I'm a man who knows what he wants," he corrected. He reached out, his thumb tracing the plunging neckline of the red dress, his touch barely grazing the swell of my breast. "And I want to know why you're wearing this dress. It's not you. It's a loud, screaming invitation." "Summer picked it out," I whispered, my heart hammering so hard I was sure he could feel it through my ribs. "Summer," he repeated the name like it was a bad taste in his mouth. "Your friend has a habit of putting you in the line of fire. But she made one mistake." "What?" "She thought I'd share." He leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear. "I don't share, Tyla. If you wear this for me, you stay with me." The chemistry between us was a physical weight, a magnetic pull that made my knees weak. He looked at my lips, and for a second, the world narrowed down to just the two of us. He began to lean in, his hand sliding up my neck to cup my jaw, his thumb tilting my head back. I closed my eyes, waiting for the collision. "Tyla! Oh my god, I've been looking everywhere for you!" The velvet curtain swung open. I jumped back, my heart leaping into my throat. Summer stood there, a glass of dark red Merlot in each hand. She was wearing a look of panicked concern that felt entirely too rehearsed. "I thought you'd gotten lost!" she cried, stumbling forward. It happened in slow motion. Summer "tripped" over the edge of the curtain, her arms flailing. The glass in her right hand tilted perfectly. A wave of deep, dark red wine splashed across the front of my crimson dress. The cold liquid soaked through the silk instantly, staining the fabric and my skin, making me look like I'd been caught in a bloody accident. The party guests near the curtain turned and gasped. "Oh no!" Summer shrieked, dropping the other glass for dramatic effect. "Tyla, I'm so sorry! I'm such a klutz! Your beautiful dress is ruined!" I stood there, shivering as the cold wine dripped down my legs. I looked at Summer. For a split second, through the fake tears and the apologies, she gave me a look of pure, triumphant satisfaction. She hadn't just ruined the dress. She had turned my "powerful" moment into a public humiliation. I looked at Daniel. His face was a mask of cold fury, his eyes darting between me and the "clumsy" girl standing between us. I wanted to disappear, but as the crowd began to whisper, I realized Summer hadn't just spilled wine,she had just declared war.