Prologue

"You're not going, Ari and that's the end of it!" my mother screams at me.

It's on the tip of my tongue to tell her how awful, how ugly she looks, with her face a blotchy, mottled shade of red. They're the words that would hurt her the most right now in the middle of this fight.

My mother is never anything less than perfectly put together, apart from when she's yelling at me. Which feels like all the time at the moment. Her adoring fans never get to see this side of her. No, in front of the cameras she's the perfect wife, the perfect mum. Perfect perfect perfect.

If they only knew the real her. Behind closed doors, the confident, cool fa?ade crumbles, revealing a woman consumed by her own insecurities and frustrations. The weight of her unfulfilled dreams hang heavy in the air, suffocating both of us as she tries to force me down the right path. Her path.

I take a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts before responding. Screaming like a banshee…stooping to her level isn't going to cut it. The only way to win this fight is to calmly put my point across – she hates it when I do that. She says I need to ‘get down off my high horse', which of course, makes me do it even more.

"Mum, I understand your concerns, but this is something I need to do. I can't let your fear dictate my choices anymore."

My mother's blue eyes, so similar to my own, flicker with a mix of anger and desperation. "You think you're so brave, huh? Going out into the world, chasing after some silly dream? You have no idea what it's really like out there."

My mother is so dramatic. She should have been an actress. Although, I guess she is, just without the Hollywood glamour lifestyle. Not that being married to a peer of the realm is all that far away. Lord and Lady Clifton attend endless dinners and events, like polo, rowing or Ascot.

She thinks I want to chase a silly dream? It's a party, for fucks' sake, not a career in exotic dancing. She's so concerned about outward appearances that I'm nearly eighteen and barely allowed to leave the house for anything other than school. She thinks it's outrageous that I want to go out tonight, but everyone in my year is going to celebrate the end of our exams like normal teenagers. Except me, because there will be boys and booze there. Heaven forbid.

She's being utterly ridiculous. And she knows it.

A surge of determination rises within me, fuelled by her words. I don't know what the real world is like, because she never lets me experience it. Honestly, some days I feel like a princess locked in a metaphorical tower, swaddled in bubble wrap, waiting for someone to rescue me.

"Maybe not, but I'll never know unless I see it for myself. It's just one party."

Her voice cracks with emotion. "Ari, please understand. I just...I worry about you. Life can be cruel and unforgiving. I don't want you to get hurt."

This isn't true. She's also a master manipulator, I remind myself, resisting the urge to scowl at the crocodile tears shining in her eyes.

She doesn't worry about me. She worries about me showing her up. About hurting her brand. Tarnishing her husband's good name.

I say nothing, refusing to be swayed.

She looks at me, really looks at me, for the first time in months.

My mother's expression softens as she finally sees the fire in my eyes, the determination etched across my face. I'm not a child anymore.

After what feels like an eternity, she sighs gently. "Fine, go then. But don't come crying to me when something terrible happens."

The party blows.

I will bite out my own tongue before I admit that my mum was right, and teenage parties are just as mundane and underwhelming as she always claims. The music is too loud, the air is thick with the smell of sweat, weed and cheap alcohol. I feel completely out of place amidst the sea of strangers who are either laughing, dancing or making out all around me.

Wandering around aimlessly, I try to find a familiar face in this chaotic mess of teenage horniness. I don't really have any friends, it's hard when you're kept in a bubble. There are no shopping or cinema trips, no parties or events – other than my mother's work – no sleepovers, nothing like that. I can never have anyone over because of my mother and step-father's need for privacy. Just school.

The desperation in my chest grows as I realise that I don't really belong here. But admitting that to myself feels like surrendering my independence, my freedom to make choices. If I acquiesce to this, what else will I have to give in on?

Just when I'm about to give up and head back home defeated, I catch a glimpse of a boy across the room. He's standing by the makeshift bar, sipping on a drink with a bored expression plastered on his face. Something about him draws me in; the way he carries himself with an air of indifference, as if he's seen it all before.

And I know him.

Maybe not to talk to, but I do at least recognise him from one of my classes, which is more than I can say for the rest of the crowd here. Where are all these people even from?

I approach him, hoping that maybe he could be my saving grace tonight. As I get closer, I can see the slight upturn of his lips, hinting at some hidden amusement. His eyes meet mine for a brief moment, sparking an instant connection between us.

"Hey," I say tentatively, trying not to let my nervousness show. "It's Cameron, right?"

He raises an eyebrow, sizing me up. "You look lost, little princess."

I chuckle nervously even though his nickname for me isn't cute or endearing. They all call me that at school, but in a mean way. They think I'm posh, a platinum blond rich bitch who thinks her shit doesn't stink. I've heard worse whispered about me in the corridors.

"You could say that."

He takes another sip of his drink before motioning toward the exit. "Wanna get out of here? This party is shit."

Relief floods over me as his words echo my own thoughts. Without hesitation, I nod and follow his lead.

We slip away from the crowd and make our way outside, leaving behind the pulsating bass and suffocating atmosphere of the party. The cool night air hits my face, instantly refreshing me after being trapped in that chaotic room.

As we walk down through the dimly lit garden, I realise that I don't even know anything beyond this boy's name. And that he's freakishly good at maths. It's strange how we can feel a connection with someone we barely know, yet it feels like we've known each other for ages. Maybe it's because he sees through the fa?ade, just like I do.

"You don't look like you came here with anyone tonight."

"I didn't. I got an Uber."

"So, what's your escape plan?" he asks, breaking the comfortable silence between us.

"For the party?" I ask, blinking.

"For getting out of this hell hole they call a town."

I contemplate his question for a moment, revelling in the surge of excitement rushing through me. "I want to travel," I confess. "I want to see the world. Experience life on my terms."

He smirks, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Well, lucky for you, I happen to have a motorcycle parked just around the corner. How about we take a spontaneous road trip? No predetermined destination, just freedom and adventure."

A grin spreads across my face at his proposal. This is exactly what I need – an escape from the suffocating expectations and restrictions placed upon me. To be free from the shadow of my mother's disapproval. She didn't want me to come to the party, well, it looks like she's going to get her wish because I'm leaving it.

"I'm in," I reply without hesitation. Maybe the one small cup of punch I was handed upon arrival has gone to my head, or maybe it's my first taste of freedom, but I'm feeling bold.

I want to experience something.

I want to live.

Within an hour, I'm convinced this is going to be the best night of my life.

By dawn I know it'll always be remembered as the worst.