AT THE PARTY NEXTDOOR BY MELLA

The cold wine seeped into my skin, turning the crimson silk of my dress into a heavy, clinging shroud. The iron scent of the Merlot was sickeningly sweet, and as the dark liquid dripped onto the white marble floor, the silence of the VIP balcony felt like a physical weight. Summer stood there, her hands over her mouth in a theatrical display of horror. "Oh, Tyla! I'm so, so sorry! My heel caught the rug and," I didn't hear the rest. I was too busy watching the faces of the people peering through the curtain. A few girls from the college social scene were whispering, their eyes darting from my ruined dress to my burning face. One of them let out a stifled, sharp giggle. It was the sound of my dignity breaking. I looked down at my feet, my vision blurring. I wasn't a "Miami girl." I was a scholarship student in a borrowed dress, standing in a penthouse that cost more than my hometown, covered in booze like a punchline. Suddenly, the heat of the balcony vanished. A heavy, warm weight draped over my shoulders, smelling of sandalwood and power. Daniel had stepped behind me. He didn't just offer me his blazer; he wrapped it around me, pulling the lapels tight across my chest until I was completely cocooned in his scent and his expensive charcoal wool. His hands lingered on my shoulders, his grip firm, grounding me. "Music. Off." His voice wasn't loud, but it carried the authority of a gunshot. Within seconds, the thumping bass died. The laughter in the room vanished. The only sound left was the distant whistle of the wind against the glass. Daniel stepped around me, shielding my shaking body from the crowd with his own. He looked out at the room, his eyes no longer stormy, they were ice. "Is something funny?" he asked, his voice dangerously low. No one moved. Even the girl who had giggled looked like she wanted to melt into the floorboards. "I want to make one thing very clear," Daniel continued, his gaze sweeping across the elite of Miami. "This woman is my guest. If anyone feels the need to comment on her, laugh at her, or even look at her the wrong way, you can leave. But you won't be leaving through the door." He paused, a dark, lethal edge entering his tone. "You'll be leaving in a body bag. Am I understood?" The silence was absolute. I felt a shiver go down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold wine. This was the "something powerful" Skyler had warned me about. Daniel Thorne didn't just protect; he owned. "Out. Everyone," Daniel commanded. "The party is over." As the crowd scrambled to obey, Daniel turned back to me. His expression softened, just for a fraction of a second. He reached out to wipe a stray drop of wine from my cheek with his thumb. "Go to the guest suite," he murmured. "There are clothes in the wardrobe. Wash up." "I... I can just go home," I whispered. "You're not going anywhere until you're warm," he countered, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my heart skip. "Go. Now." Before I could argue, Summer scurried forward, her face a mask of sisterly devotion. "I've got her, Daniel! I'll help her clean up. I feel just terrible about this." Daniel gave Summer a look of pure, unadulterated suspicion, but he nodded curtly. "Ten minutes, Summer. Then I'm checking on her." Summer gripped my arm, leading me toward the back of the penthouse. The moment the door to the marble-lined guest bathroom clicked shut, the "devoted friend" act evaporated. She didn't grab a towel. She didn't check if I was okay. She leaned against the vanity, crossing her arms as she watched me struggle to peel the wet silk off my skin. "Quite the show, Tyla," she said, her voice dropping the honeyed tone. It was flat. Cold. "The 'Damsel in Distress' act really worked on him. I have to admit, I didn't think you had it in you." "Act? Summer, you tripped me!" I snapped, my voice trembling with suppressed rage. "Did I?" She shrugged, examining her manicure. "Maybe. Or maybe I just saved you from making a fool of yourself. You actually think he likes you? A girl who lives in a 'cozy' apartment and buys her shoes on sale?" I froze, clutching Daniel's blazer to my chest. "He defended me." Summer let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "Oh, honey. Don't get excited. He's an Alpha; he defends his territory. But you aren't his heart, Tyla. You're a trophy." She stepped closer, her eyes gleaming with a sickly light. "I overheard him talking to Dave in the kitchen before the party started," she whispered, leaning in until I could smell her expensive floral perfume. "They have a pool going. A bet. Dave put down five grand that Daniel couldn't get the 'innocent scholarship girl' into his bed within the first week. Daniel just smiled and took the bet." The world seemed to tilt. "No. He wouldn't..." "Why else would a man like that be interested in you?" Summer's words were like poison, dripping into my ears. "He's playing a part, Tyla. The protective hero, the intense neighbor... it's all a script to get you to drop that dress. Once he wins the bet, he'll throw you away like yesterday's trash." She patted my cheek, her smile finally reaching her eyes, but it was the smile of a shark. "I'm just telling you this because I'm your best friend. I don't want to see you get hurt when he moves on to the next girl. Which will be about five minutes after he's done with you." Summer walked out, leaving me standing in the middle of the luxury bathroom, shivering in the steam. I looked at Daniel's blazer, draped over the chair. It felt heavy. It felt warm. But now, it felt like a trap. Was the protectiveness real? Or was I just a high-stakes game for a man who already had everything? I walked to the mirror and wiped the steam away. Behind me, the door opened, and Daniel stood there, his eyes searching mine for any sign of hurt. He looked so sincere, so powerful. But as I looked at the man who had just promised to kill for me, all I could hear was Summer's voice: He's just waiting to win the bet.