Chapter 4

Chapter

Four

I ’m sitting in the corner of a long, lonely balcony, listening to the wind in the leaves, its whispers and breaths. Strings of bulbs hang from the branches of trees, twinkling stars against the backdrop of dying leaves. A handful of people walk along the narrow sidewalk below, falling leaves zig-zagging over their heads. From inside the restaurant, muted light spills across the terrace and the crowd murmurs, clinking plates and glasses. Laughter rises and falls in waves.

I’m trying to notice it all. Trying to live in the moment. There’s a pumpkin carved into a jack-o’-lantern just beginning to shrivel and rot, slumped against the railing, its mouth sliced into a frightened, pulpy slit. “Don’t look at me like that,” I whisper to its withering face. “I’ll go back in soon. I just needed air.”

A fat fly lands on the corner of its mouth.

“Why are you hiding out here?” Hayes’s voice startles me, my breath catching in an embarrassingly loud gasp.

“Jesus, thanks for the heart attack,” I say, choking out a laugh as I look up at him.

He stands beside me, his shoulder brushing against mine, and warmth seeps through his jacket. “Our food should be out soon. Why don’t you come back inside?”

“I will…I was just taking in the lights, and talking to my friend here,” I say, nodding toward the poor, mutilated pumpkin.

He chuckles softly. “I’m sure it’s a much more interesting conversation than what’s being talked about inside,” he says, his gaze locking onto mine. For a moment, his eyes linger, shifting between mine as if he’s searching for something—something I suddenly desperately want him to find. Then his gaze dips to my lips before meeting my eyes again. “The view’s better out here too.”

Despite the chill in the air, my skin heats, and I can’t help but wish he’d look at me just a little longer. I want to freeze this moment in time, stretch it out like taffy, let the tension between us simmer and build into something more.

“Yeah,” I finally say, my voice softer, almost breathless. “The view is definitely better.”

A slow smile curves on his lips, the kind that makes my pulse quicken and my knees feel like jelly. His fingers brush lightly against mine, sending a spark up my arm. It’s a casual touch, the kind you could easily write off as friendly, but the way he’s looking at me says otherwise. I lean in just a bit, hoping he’ll take the hint and close the gap. But instead, he just hangs there, his smile all teasing, his eyes bright with something I can’t quite decipher but am more than willing to figure out.

I’m holding my breath, waiting for him to make a move, any move, that shows he feels the same spark. The world beyond the balcony blurs into the background, leaving just the two of us in the soft glow of the twinkling lights and the whispering wind.

God, I really don’t want to go back inside and deal with our friends .

Ugh, our friends.

When we first got to the restaurant, the group ordered fancy-sounding drinks with complicated ingredients and erotic names that sounded like titles of romance novels. I, on the other hand, went straight for three shots of the cheapest tequila, which has now made my arms feel unbearably heavy.

A sparkling diamond engagement ring flashed on Marissa’s finger that she couldn’t stop staring at. Neither could I. It wasn’t that I wanted Jonathan to ask me; it was more about the confusion, the questions gnawing at me. What had happened between us? Why had I suddenly become the one who wasn’t right? What made me too hard to handle? Why hadn’t he told me his feelings about my job before? Why could I sleep with any man, but never be truly loved by any of them?

I lower my gaze, letting it trail along Hayes’s shoulders, down his arm. The edge of his tattoo peeks out from beneath his sleeve—a snake winding around his bicep and up over his shoulder. I was with him when he got most of it done. The tattoo artist was another one of my failed attempts at a relationship. I can’t even remember his name now.

“Remember the first time we met?” I ask, my voice soft, tinged with nostalgia.

“I remember the second time more,” he says, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. I think I even see a bit of a blush coloring his cheeks. Cute.

“When was that?” I tilt my head slightly, curiosity piqued, half-expecting him to bring up some embarrassing moment I’ve conveniently blocked out.

“You were in the library. Stack of library books laid out in front of you. Messy bun, with a pencil stabbed through the top pile of the curls.” It’s the way he’s looking at me. Looks like that can make any girl forget about broken hearts and engagement rings.

“What are you?—”

“Your jeans were ripped at both knees. And you had this oversized pale pink sweater on, it fell off your shoulder all the way down to your elbow.”

“You’re making that up,” I laugh. I know he isn’t though, I remember the sweater, can still feel the rough wool against my skin.

“You wore dark red lipstick. You were the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.”

“I was always in that library. Or the book store. I’d lose all track of time in there.”

“Anywhere there were books involved.”

He chuckles, the sound low and warm, stirring something deep inside me. “Do you remember right before winter break there was that party. You know, the one where you tried to teach me how to do a body shot.”

I laugh, the memory flooding back. “Oh, right. You were so bad at it.” For some reason we thought adding flames to the alcohol would make it so much cooler. Pro tip: it doesn’t.

“I was distracted,” he says, his voice dropping as his gaze locks onto mine. “By the fire, but mostly by you.”

Heat flares in my chest, and I bite my lip, trying to suppress the smile that tugs at the corners of my mouth. “You never told me that.”

“There was a lot of stuff going on back then.”

We stare at each other a bit more. I want him to kiss me. I want him to make me forget how shitty I feel.

“You were always so strong; with everything you were dealing with…”

I lean forward, a rush of irritation and shame flooding through me. If he says anything else along those lines, I could throw myself off this balcony, splatter wetly onto the rocks and cobblestones below. “You were dating Casey,” I say, steering him away from the edge of that conversational cliff.

“Her I barely remember.”

“Oh, really? You followed her to that college.”

“But I stayed because you told me to.”

“When did I tell you to?”

“We were all drinking at Boozer’s.”

“God, I remember that place,” I say, leaning back against the railing. “They had a great house band, didn’t they?”

“You told me I shouldn’t leave with her,” he replies softly, running a hand through his hair. “You told me to stay and finish my degree, forget about her. Not to give up on school and settle for some mediocre life back home.”

“And look at you now,” I say, smiling up at him, heart fluttering in some strange new dance.

“Yeah, Tor,” Hayes replies, his gaze lingering on me, “but…what if I’m looking at you now.”

I laugh softly, trying to keep the mood light, but my voice wavers slightly. “Well, you heard Jonathan this morning, maybe you shouldn’t be looking at me. I’m a handful, remember?”

He grins, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Good thing I got two hands then.”

A blush creeps up my neck, warming my skin. “I am a bit much, though.”

“No, Tori,” he says, his tone shifting to something softer, more earnest. “You’re not. Don’t listen to Jonathan. From where I’m standing, it looks like you’re the perfect amount of everything.”

His words wrap around me like a hug, and I can’t help but smile. Ugh, I really hate myself for the question I’m about to ask, because I’m thoroughly enjoying the flirty Hayes, but I definitely have to. “Hayes…” I say, planting my hands on my hips, “where’s your girlfriend, what’s-her-face, this weekend?”

“What’s-her-face?” He laughs.

“I’m sorry, is that rude?” I crinkle my nose and laugh along with him. “I genuinely can’t remember her name.”

He shrugs, still grinning. “Me neither,” he jokes. “We broke it off a few months ago.”

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I’m so out of the loop, I had no idea. Weren’t you guys serious?”

“Yeah, seriously incompatible at the end.”

“Oh,” I say, feeling a mix of relief and curiosity. “So you’re single?”

Hayes raises an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes. “Extremely.”

“So this is the first time we’re actually…” I trail off, unable to say the words “single at the same time.” But I feel like the universe has just handed me a golden ticket—dozens of sex positions dance through my head in a naughty movie montage. I swear, there’s even a soundtrack. The music is sick.

He leans closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You know, you don’t have to hold your breath around me, Tori. Feel free to show up with all your feelings.”

I’m not entirely sure what he means, but his reassurance is soothing. It’s comforting to be told I can just be myself, even though, deep down, I wish I could shed the skin of the person I’ve become and slip into someone else’s for a while. Maybe someone who knows how to fold a fitted sheet or remembers to water their plants—or at least someone who doesn’t feel like a ghost in their own life.

“You know,” he says softly, his voice almost a whisper, “I had a crush on you when we were kids. You were so beautiful, so creative, and my God, so very talented.” His eyes soften as they meet mine. “You were going to be a famous artist, create something unhinged and beautiful one day.”

I look away, feeling a flush of embarrassment.My excitement deflates—my internal movie montage is now a compilation of me stumbling over my own feet, devouring entire pizzas alone, and binge-watching cat TikToks in my pajamas. The soundtrack sucks this time—it’s melancholy and off-key. Almost circus-like.

The dreams I had in college seem like a distant memory now. I had lofty ambitions but lacked the backbone to see them through. My friends all did though, they all made their dreams come true while I struggled to keep up. Still struggle. The thought alone makes my chest tighten, the air thinning around my neck like a noose.

We were made differently. They came from loving families, families with means. Families that paid their tuition, filled their closets with candy-colored handbags, and even gifted them brand-new cars with big red bows for their twenty-first birthdays.

Marissa’s was a BMW.

Me? I had none of that. No one to guide me, no one to teach me how to navigate this messed-up world.Raised in a cramped studio apartment by a runaway sixteen-year-old mom who got knocked up during her sophomore year of high school. My dad was just some guy she met at a New Year’s Eve party—a college party she and her best friend snuck into. Never even got his name. So, yeah, he has no idea I exist.

And it wasn’t like my mom was a drug addict or physically abusive—she was worse. Indifferent. She ignored me, dodged every ounce of responsibility like it was a social disease. Her life was a blur of clubs, all-night parties, and a rotating cast of strange men in and out of our tiny apartment. That’s how she made her money too. By the end of my first year in college, she’d downgraded from that studio apartment to a prison cell. I only hear from her when she needs money, and since I have none, that’s not very often.

My friends tried to understand what I was going through, but how could they? They went home during school breaks, while I waitressed and slept on whatever couch I could find. Their lives were so different from mine, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t bridge the gap between their world and mine.

Then there was the affair. Charles Knight—the head of the art department, a man with prominence in the industry. I was so naive, caught up in the thrill of his attention and the promise of a future that seemed within my grasp. My first real boyfriend, my first sexual partner. I was so in love with him it blinded me. I didn’t know about his wife or his children—secrets he kept buried until everything came crashing down. Right on top of me.

The affair shattered my world in ways I would have never anticipated. What I thought would be the start of a promising career turned into a nightmare. One moment, I had a serious relationship and my own showing at the biggest art gallery in the city; the next, it was all gone. Everything, gone in an instant.

Cancel culture is real.

I remember the day it all came to light as if it were yesterday. His wife, an influential art dealer with massive global connections, found out. The details of how remain a blur, but oh, the aftermath is seared into my fucking memory. On the opening night of my gallery show she publicly shamed me, exposing every detail of our affair. And I mean EVERY detail. Large prints of intimate pictures of us—taken in moments I’d thought were private—were blown up to monstrous sizes, towering over my work. Our text messages—steamy and sometimes embarrassingly vulnerable—were plastered alongside them, each message blown up and highlighted, and oh God, the videos. The videos I never knew were being taken of me became a grotesque display of my personal humiliation.

I was completely caught off guard, not knowing who she was to him until it was too late. It was so humiliating the way she laughed at me, telling me I would never be anything more than a pretty trophy to him, a plaything for him, a fuck toy. Trash. Her words cut deeper than any knife, stripping away whatever dignity I had left. And Charles stood there and said nothing.

The story made the newspapers, my God, they wrote about it for weeks. My name became a punchline, my reputation a joke. And Charles? Not a scratch on him. He destroyed my life and walked away, unscathed, like what happened to me had nothing to do with the horrible choices he made. He never even apologized.

I spent weeks after in a daze, wandering around campus in my pajamas, skipping classes, barely holding on. I nearly lost my scholarship. It was all too much. In one swift blow, I lost both the love of my life and my shot at a future in art.It was all so overwhelming. It kind of still is.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to say anything wrong—” Hayes's voice slices through the fog of my memories, yanking me back to the present.

“You didn’t,” I reply softly, my voice barely a whisper. “I was just… lost in thought. I’m okay.” Liar, liar, pants on fire.

“Come on,” he says, offering his hand. “Let’s go back in before they send out a search party.”

I take his hand, the warmth of his touch lingering even after he lets go, and follow him back inside, staring down at my warm tingling fingers.

Back at the table, Jonathan shoots me a look of disapproval as he saws into a giant slab of steak, its bloody juices pooling around the meat like a crime scene. Marissa’s voice fills the air, loud and oblivious, rambling on and on about bridesmaid dresses while Tessa feigns interest, her eyes glued to her phone. Colors and styles. I feel my stomach churn; I no longer have any appetite.

I watch Jonathan devour his steak, his knife hacking away at the meat and his fork shoveling it into his mouth. A giant scoop of mashed potatoes next, a great big dollop falling onto the napkin in his lap. Classy.

“Tori?”

I blink, dragged out of my mental fog. Marissa stares at me from across the table. Tessa too.Jonathan is frozen mid-chew. Griffin looks appalled, and Hayes’s eyes are wide.

“What? I’m sorry. I wasn’t listening. I was…daydreaming, again,” I mumble, trying to piece together whatever nonsense I missed.

Marissa tilts her head, her drink held up to catch the light, the diamond on her finger catching the best angle. “I was asking what you thought about beach weddings. The sound of the ocean is so relaxing, don’t you think? So beautiful.”

I try to force a smile, to muster some sort of a response. Neither works. My mind is elsewhere, still haunted by old ghosts.

“A tropical island. A resort even.” Marissa is the sort of person who only asks questions just to hear herself answer them—she doesn’t really give a shit about your feelings.

“You should be one of my bridesmaids. Along with Ellis and Tessa,” she adds, her tone bright but empty.

See what I mean?

“Awkward,” Griffin mutters under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear.

“Yes! Sure,” I blurt out, too loudly, too clumsily. “Of course! I’d love to. How exciting.” I plaster a smile on my face, but it feels as fake as everything else around me.

I avoid looking at anyone else, focusing instead on my own slab of meat, bleeding out in a sad, pink puddle. I stab my fork into it with more force than necessary. Sure, eucalyptus green sounds perfect for a December wedding. Of course, a bachelorette weekend in Vegas is the epitome of class and sophistication. Absolutely, destination weddings are the thing now. No, no, none of this is too much to ask, you stupid, selfish, self-absorbed bitch .

It is, though. It’s all too much. Each word, each trivial detail brings up a hot burst of fiery rage inside me, simmering just beneath the surface. I sip my drink robotically, my fingers clenching the glass like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered to reality. I smile at all the right moments and chew my veiny, stringy steak, which has been salted way too much. I give up on the meal after my fourth bite and settle for a liquid dinner. The alcohol burns deep in my belly, but it’s a welcome distraction.

“We should try and get into the amusement park tonight,” Tessa suggests, her voice cutting through the tension. I wonder if she sees my discomfort, if she’s trying to pull me out of my misery. “I kept emailing and calling them about making a reservation, but nobody got back to me.”

“You know,” Griffin chimes in, clearly eager to shift the mood, “besides that security guard, the place once had a serial killer working there. He worked the Ferris wheel. He was this messed-up guy who would lure beautiful dark-haired girls into the park at night, kill them, and grind up their flesh to sell in meat pies.”

“Really?” Marissa snaps, clearly irritated.

“No,” Griffin laughs, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I’m totally making that shit up.” He pauses, enjoying the moment before adding, “It was actually for the meatball subs.”

Marissa rolls her eyes, muttering under her breath, “These trips aren’t as fun as they used to be.”

Jonathan nods absently beside her, his eyes scanning the restaurant for the waiter, clearly more interested in getting another drink than joining in the conversation.

“Remember when we went to Salem? That was the best trip ever,” Tessa says, trying to inject some life into this trainwreck of a dinner.

“Yeah, good times,” Griffin mumbles, scrolling through his phone.

I laugh, louder than I mean to, the alcohol buzzing in my veins. It’s not real laughter—more of a desperate sound, a release. The forced nature of this dinner, of these so-called friendships, is painfully obvious.

Everyone turns to stare at me like I’ve just committed some social atrocity. It was just a laugh.

The table falls silent.

Well, then. Fuck you all very much.

After dinner, Tessa orders a car to take us back to Everwood, but when it arrives, it’s not the spacious van she requested, nope, it’s a clown-car-level cramped SUV. Jonathan climbs in first, pulling Marissa onto his lap. She giggles, her arms looping around his neck, and I hate to admit it, but he looks more comfortable than he ever did with me.

Everyone else climbs in, and of course, there’s no room left for me. I hesitate for a split second before making a choice that’s equal parts brave and reckless. Screw it. I slide onto Hayes’s lap, feeling the warmth of his body against mine.

Jonathan doesn’t even notice.

Hayes smells good—too good, like cedarwood and something fresh, it’s intoxicating. I squirm around a bit until I feel him harden against my ass, and a thrill shoots through me, unexpected and electric. I seriously don’t know what’s wrong with me, but instead of moving away like a normal person, I lean back into him, a strange, defiant smile playing on my lips.

His breath hitches, and I feel the tension in his muscles, the way his hands hover near my waist, unsure of where to rest them. There’s a moment, a charged pause, then his forehead presses against my temple. “Jesus, Tori. You’re killing me,” he whispers against my ear, his breath warm, delicious. He splays his hand at my back, holding me steady the whole ride back. His warmth seeps into my skin. I need to feel wanted right now, desperately. I talk myself out of turning to face him, straddling his lap, and rubbing myself against him until I feel a bit of release. I wonder if Jonathan would notice me then.

The car crawls to a stop in front of the Everwood, and we pour out of the car like liquid. The temperature has dropped a bit, the air is cooler and crisp. The sky dark with a thin veil of puffy white clouds that drift low over the moon.

“Come on, let’s try to go this way,” Tessa calls as the car pulls away. None of us seem to want to go, but we follow her wordlessly.

We climb through the overgrown path, leaves crunching beneath our feet like brittle bones. Jonathan and Marissa drift up ahead of us, their figures dark silhouettes among the trees. The rest of us trail behind. The wind whistles through the tall trees, almost forming soft, whispered words. I grab onto Hayes’s arm when I stumble over a rock. Griffin guffaws, and Tessa slaps his arm to shut him up.

We step out of the woods through a break in the trees. Up ahead, a tall, rusted fence holdsa broken sign that reads Everwood Amusements. The park is eerily silent. A towering Ferris wheel juts up toward the low-hanging fog, its top three cars completely hidden behind puffy white clouds. Behind it, swings droop down from a high perch of some sort and rock gently in a silent wind.

Tessa turns on her cellphone flashlight and hands it to Marissa as she pulls back a rotting piece of plywood that covers the chain-linked fence. The wood splinters as she yanks and crumbles like ash to the ground. The fence falls open, inviting us in.

The six of us stand frozen, taking in the scene before us. The park looms like a ghost of its former self, a playground for nightmares. “This doesn’t look like a very reputable establishment,” Griffin mutters, his voice tinged with skepticism.

“I need a tetanus shot just looking at it,” Hayes mumbles.

Ripped blue tarps hang limply over weathered wooden stalls, their surfaces smudged with dirt and grime. A two-story haunted castle looms in the distance. “This looks like the beginning of a really cheesy horror movie,” Hayes adds, a note of resignation in his voice. “I’m getting too old for these trips.”

Marissa swings the beam of light into the front booth. Crusty paint peels from the wood in long spirally curls. The ground in front is littered with empty beer cans, trash, and a filthy old mattress. The place feels heavy with sadness.

A shiver runs over my shoulders. There’s something unsettling about the place—something more than just its dilapidated state. The air feels thicker here, charged with a strange, suffocating energy.

“This is stupid,” Griffin says, shrugging with a smirk. “Let’s just go inside. Tessa, Tori, you want to go in the funhouse with me? You can both sit on my lap and see what comes up.”

“Shut up, Griff,” Tessa sighs, rolling her eyes. “You can’t say that kind of stuff anymore to women.”

“Call the HR department on me, see if I care.” He chuckles.

A beam of light flickers back from the small booth. A figure emerges—tall, thin, and unsettlingly familiar. He strides toward us, his flashlight cutting through the darkness and casting a harsh light on our faces.

I blink, raising a hand to shield my eyes from the blinding light.

“It’s you,” the figure says, his voice deep yet nasally, sending an involuntary shiver up the back of my neck. I can’t place the face, but there’s something oddly familiar about him.

My heart drops as recognition dawns. Oh, no. It’s the guy from the bar last night—the one from the bed this morning.

Uh, hi,” I manage, trying to keep my voice steady, even though my insides twist and bubble with panic.

“I knew you were a tourist,” he says, a sly smile creeping across his lips. His eyes gleam with something unsettling, something that makes me want to leave immediately. “Did you come to see if my stories about this place were true?”

“You guys know each other?” Jonathan asks, his finger jabbing back and forth between us, his brow furrowed with suspicion.

“Sort of. We met—” I snap my mouth closed, utterly flustered. I don’t want to lie, but I don’t want anyone to know the full truth either.

“Well, this isn’t awkward at all.” Griffin chuckles darkly.

“Nah, it’s not awkward,” Lyle—the guy from the bar—says smoothly, stepping closer, invading my personal space with a casual confidence that makes my skin crawl. He leans in, his breath hot and too close. “We met earlier this morning while waiting for coffee. The line was long, and I might have talked her ear off about this place. What can I say?” He shrugs, his gaze boring into mine with an unnerving intensity. “I would have said pretty much anything to get a hottie like her to come visit me here.”

Thank God it’s dark because my face feels like a flaming ball of fire. I shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other, desperate to move, to escape his gaze.

“But I bet you’re used to men doing and saying just about anything because of your looks, and that?—”

“Alright, you’ve made your point,” Hayes interrupts, his voice firm and commanding. “We came here to get some information about the escape room, not to be subjected to your—whatever this is.”

Lyle’s smile doesn’t waver. If anything, it widens, as if he’s enjoying the unease he’s creating. “Just making conversation,” he says lightly, but there’s a dark edge to his tone, a warning that sets my nerves more on edge. “It’s like I was telling you, you know, in the coffee line,” Lyle continues, his eyes gleaming unnaturally in the dim light. “This whole place has ghosts. If you’re interested, I could show you some of the best spots where you can really... feel their presence. We’ve got a group in there right now, so maybe you could give me your number, and we can set something up.”

I stare at him blankly. I let this man inside me. The realization twists my stomach into a knot of regret and disgust.

“We’re only staying at the Everwood for the weekend, but I didn’t get to make a reservation; no one answered when I called,” Tessa explains, her voice trembling slightly.

“Oh, you’re staying here?” Lyle’s smile widens further, in a way that’s more unsettling than friendly. “Why don’t you and your friends come back tomorrow night? We’ll see if you get out alive.” His gaze locks onto mine, and I feel a wave of nausea. A cold sweat beads on my forehead.

“Not many people do,” he says darkly.

Right .

There’s a serious debate flashing through my mind on the merits of sobriety right now, because this is absolutely not how I remember Lyle looking last night. His nose is a bit crooked on his face, slapping all his other features out of whack, like a cubist painting. Even in the low light, I can see the dirt caked under his fingernails and a smudge of something darker streaked across his chin. Crumbs from his last meal—God knows what—dust the front of his uniform, which hangs open with the first two buttons undone, revealing a puff of thick, dark curly chest hair. My skin prickles with goosebumps. I must have been more intoxicated than I thought last night.

He rubs the back of his hand harshly over his lips, waiting for my answer. He’s breathing loud, out of his mouth, huffing bologna-mustard breath right into my face, and I struggle to keep my composure as Tessa fiddles with her phone, trying to pull up her calendar app.

As I start to edge away, he suddenly jerks forward, blurting out in a harsh tone that sounds less like a question and more like a demand, “I didn’t get your names, right? What are your names?” His eyes dart over everyone’s and bounce back on me. “For your, uh…reservation for tomorrow.”

“I’m Tessa. This is Tori, Marissa, Jonathan, Hayes, and Griffin,” Tessa rattles off.

“Tori,” Lyle whispers, as if tasting the name on his lips, his voice almost reverent.

“Creeeeeeepy,” Griffin blurts out, unable to contain his discomfort.

Tessa pushes Griffin aside, her expression firm, no-nonsense. “Here,” she says, shoving her phone at Lyle. “Give me your number so we can make a proper reservation.”

Lyle takes the phone, his fingers brushing hers for a moment too long, his eyes still fixed on me. “Yeah, sure,” he mutters, punching in the numbers. “I’ll give you my number.”

“Okay, see you tomorrow night—” I say, backing away.

“Lyle,” he stammers, his eyes darting anxiously. “My name is Lyle.”

“Right. Can’t wait. Lyle,” I say hurriedly, spinning on my heel and rushing back into the darkness of the trees, as far from the entrance of the park as I can get.

My friends follow close behind, their footsteps echoing through the night.

“Someone’s got a crush on Tori,” Griffin laughs in a sing-song voice.

“Shut up, Griff,” Tessa snaps, as she catches up with me. “Hey, what was that about?”

“Nothing, why?” I glance over my shoulder at her, my voice shaking. “I just talked to him while I was waiting for coffee. Before I got here this morning.”

“Then why are you running right now?”

“Oh, I have to use the bathroom,” I lie quickly. I’m good at lying. My friends always believe me. I bolt ahead to the estate, making it look like an emergency.

Once inside the chateau, I slam the heavy doors shut behind me, the echo reverberating through the grand foyer. I inhale deeply, the scent of fresh-cut roses spilling from tall, narrow vases that crowd the entrance. The roses are black, adding a morbid charm to the ambiance of the place. Creepy-cute. I listen for the sound of boots on gravel outside, then dash to the bathroom before anyone can see me catching my breath. Locking the door behind me, I stare into the mirror.

I don’t like the person who looks back at me. I try to tame my wild hair, pulling it back into a tight bun, but that only elongates my neck, drawing attention to my collarbones, my breasts—features that always catch a man’s eye but never seems enough to hold his interest. Not for long, anyway.

I turn on the faucet and plunge my hands under the icy stream of water, the shock of the cold tingling up my arms. I lather them three times with the cinnamon-and-clove-scented soap, its rich, spicy fragrance filling the air as it foams from the jack-o'-lantern-shaped dispenser hanging beside the sink. Its plump orange expression full of judgment.

Fuck off, Jack .

When I step out of the bathroom, Jonathan is leaning against the wall next to the door, his sleeves rolled up, exposing those perfect forearms and strong hands. Hands that once explored every inch of my body.

“Why did you say you’d be in the wedding?” he asks, folding his tan arms across his chest.

“What would you have liked me to say, no?”

He blinks at me like that would have been the obvious choice.

“Look,” I say, then stop, trying to find the right words. “There’s no right way to deal with this. I couldn’t have said no without me looking like a horrible person.”

“You are a horrible person,” he retorts coldly. “Find a way to get out of being in the wedding.” He glances down the hallway, his head swiveling as if to ensure we’re not being watched. Then he steps closer, his presence looming, overwhelming. He’s too close now. Way too close.

I instinctively try to lean away, but there’s nowhere to go, my back’s against the wall.

“You fucked that greasy security guard, didn’t you?” he whispers, his voice low and accusatory.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I stammer, my heart racing.

“Yeah…yeah, I think you do.” His lips curl into a cruel smirk. “I can smell it on you. I always could.”

My face burns with shame.

He leans in closer, his breath hot and sickly sweet with the scent of alcohol. “You were always like that, always needing every man’s attention. You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

I try to step away, but before I can move, his fingers press against my lips, silencing me, and he shoves me harder against the wall. His body crowds mine, his hot breath grazing my ear as he growls, "Get out of the wedding party. If you fuck this up for me, I swear to God, I’ll make you regret it." His other hand tangles in my hair, yanking hard enough to make my eyes water.

I squirm, trying to break free, but he’s too strong, towering over me.

He releases me with a rough shove, and I stumble sideways, my scalp throbbing where he pulled my hair. “Look how you’re making me act,” he mutters, raking his hands through his hair, his face twisted with frustration. “You shouldn’t even be here with us.” He turns and strides down the hallway, leaving me trembling, my voice caught in my throat.

He’s never manhandled me like that before. I didn’t even fight back; I just let it happen. White-hot shame courses through me, and I turn, running in the opposite direction, my heart pounding wildly. The hallway blurs around me until I reach the bottom of the staircase, where the haunting portrait of Liliana looms above.

“I guess we both chose the wrong men, didn’t we?” I say, wiping a tear from my cheek. Her perfectly painted eyes seem to bore into mine, and I can almost feel her sorrow reaching out to me. “You know what? I hope you haunted the fuck out of them after what they did to you.”

I wait for some ghostly, disembodied voice to give me a reply, but silence is the only answer.

“Got any advice for me?” I ask the inanimate object. The hallway remains quiet and still. I let out a heavy sigh. “How about, don’t cry because it’s over, smile because now he’s Marissa’s problem.”

No ghostly chuckle. No strange knocking sounds. Just the quiet, indifferent stillness of the chateau.

“The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else?” I ask, thinking that’s probably the best advice for me. “Thanks for the pep talk,” I whisper.

I wander through the halls, slowly making my way toward the sounds of my friends. Their voices lead me to the sitting room, where they’re gathered around a huge television, the flickering light casting ghostly shadows across their faces. Laughter and mock screams fill the air—they’re watching a horror movie marathon, a tradition every year during these stupid weekend trips.

Jonathan and Marissa are cuddled up close, sharing a bowl of buttered popcorn, the smell of it heavy in the air.

“We already voted on which one to watch first. You don’t mind, do you?” Tessa asks, glancing up at me.

I shake my head absently, my mind elsewhere. The encounter with Jonathan and seeing Lyle again keeps replaying in my thoughts. I sit on the edge of one of the couches and stare at the screen. Each time the room bursts into laughter or gasps at a jump scare, I find myself growing increasingly distant, unable to fully engage in the fun.

Hayes leans over, his voice low and concerned. “Hey, are you okay? You’ve been off all night.”

I fake a grin, my heart heavy. “Yeah, just a bit tired. I think I’m going to head to bed early.”

“Yeah,” he nods. “I’m going to call it a night soon too. How many times can we watch the same movie?”

No one says anything as I leave.

Back in my room, I strip off my clothes, leaving on just a tank top and boy shorts, and turn off every light except the small lamp beside the bed. I crawl under the covers with a small bottle of whiskey I grabbed from the minibar, my only companion tonight. I lie on my side, staring at the wall that separates my room from Hayes’s, my eyes tracing the intricate patterns of moonlight filtering through the window.

Beside me, I spread out a stack of creepy-themed stationary I found in the room’s desk drawer. The paper is designed to look antique, with red splatters of ink to look like blood. There’s something oddly captivating about it. I start doodling absentmindedly. Marissa. Marissa’s ring. Marissa’s ring on a severed hand to match up with the fake smears of blood. It’s strangely cathartic.

Someone’s footsteps click down the hallway, growing louder. They seem to stop in front of my door. I take a swig of the whiskey and a stream of fire coats the back of my throat. My mind races. Was it Jonathan? Marissa? I sit up quickly. Could it be Hayes? My blood thumps thickly in my ears, my pulse thudding loud against my temples. There’s a soft clicking noise—the doorknob turning back and forth, someone trying to get in.

I slip out of the bed and pad silently across the carpet toward the door, listening intently. The footsteps stomp away quickly, as if running, getting lower and lower until I can no longer hear them. A clock somewhere in the room ticks, ticks, ticks in the heavy silence. Then, without warning, a loud pounding rattles the door. I gasp, my heart leaping into my throat.

Assholes! I grab the doorknob and yank the door open wide, ready to scream at them.

But the hallway is empty.

I peek my head out and look both ways. Nothing. No one. Down at the end of the hallway there looks to be a darker shadow standing off to the side, but it’s hard to tell if it’s real or my mind playing tricks on me.

Before I can second-guess myself, I find myself standing in front of Hayes’s door, my fist pounding against the wood in a frantic rhythm. The door swings open, and Hayes stands there, his face full of concern and confusion.

“Did you hear that knocking? Was that you?” I ask, my voice shaking.

Hayes ushers me in, closing the door behind him. “What are you talking about? What’s wrong. You’re pale.”

“I don’t want to be alone tonight,” I blurt out, the words tumbling from my lips before I can stop them.

His eyes travel over me, lingering on my bare arms and legs. I’m acutely aware of how little I’m wearing, my skin tingling under his gaze. “Jesus, Jonathan is an idiot,” he mutters. “Okay, no worries,” he says softly, his hand resting warmly on the small of my back as he guides me toward the bed. “You can stay here with me tonight.”