1.

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The restaurant was beautiful—gold chandeliers dripping from the ceiling, candlelight flickering off pristine white tablecloths, the air thick with the scent of truffle oil and aged wine. It was the kind of place where the waiters wore suits that cost more than some people's rent, and the menu didn't have prices because if you had to ask, you didn't belong here. Wyatt, of course, fit right in.

I sat across from him, chin in my palm, tapping my manicured nails against my cheek as he droned on about his father's latest business deal. Something about stocks. Or maybe real estate. I wasn't listening. I never did. Instead, I tilted my phone slightly under the table, thumbs flying as I texted Rina.

Me: i want 2 die rn

Rina: LMAOOO where u at this time

Me: Le Jardin

Rina: not this man taking u 2 ANOTHER old money snob spot

Me: he think he ate but the food mid as hell

I bit back a smirk, flipping my hair over my shoulder as Wyatt reached for my hand across the table. I let him, if only because my daddy's voice echoed in my head: Yanna, be good. Be smart. This is bigger than you.

"Babe, you're quiet," Wyatt said, squeezing my fingers. His green eyes searched my face, probably expecting me to bat my lashes and say something sweet.

I forced a smile. "Just listening to you, baby."

Lie.

He grinned, clearly satisfied, and launched into another story about some charity gala he wanted to take me to next weekend. I chewed on the inside of my cheek to keep from sighing out loud.

Me: he just called me babe im abt 2 throw up

Rina: girl just tell ur dad ur a LESBIAN

Me: u tryna get me disowned???

Wyatt waved over the waiter, ordering some fancy champagne without even checking if I wanted more. Typical. He always thought he knew best, that I'd just nod and smile and let him make all the choices. And the sad part? I did. Because it was easier. Because my father expected me to.

Because if I didn't, I'd lose everything.

Wyatt's hand drifted to my thigh under the table, and my entire body tensed. I wanted to slap it away, but I couldn't. Not here. Not now. Instead, I picked up my phone again, typing fast.

Me: come get me

Rina: say less

I let out the softest whimper, just enough to get Wyatt's attention. My hand pressed against my stomach as I shifted in my seat, my expression twisted in discomfort. "Ugh," I sighed, pouting slightly. "I don't feel good. I think I'm cramping..."

Wyatt barely looked up from his phone. "And?"

I blinked. "And... it hurts?"

His face twisted in mild annoyance like I was interrupting something important. "Yanna, stop whining. You're too old for that."

Too old? Excuse me? I'm 18. Young and fine. This man had me sitting in this stuffy-ass restaurant listening to him talk about shit I couldn't care less about, and I was too old to complain about cramps?

I leaned back in my chair, tilting my head as I stared at him. "What did you just say to me?"

He sighed like I was exhausting him. "I said stop whining." He barely even glanced at me, reaching for his glass of champagne like this was nothing. "Every time we go out, you find something to complain about. You're always 'tired' or 'cramping' or whatever. I take you to the best restaurants, introduce you to the right people, and you still act like a brat."

Oh, I know this dusty, privileged, emotionally constipated man wasn't talking to me like this.

I sat up straight, blinking slow, my lip curling slightly. "So what I'm hearing is that you think me being in pain is annoying?"

Wyatt scoffed and finally set his phone down, like he actually had to pause and process the fact that I was speaking back. "I think you act like a child."

I leaned in. "And I think you act like a bitch."

He rolled his eyes and shook his head, taking another sip of his drink like he had more important things to focus on.

"Oh, okay. Bet." I grabbed my bag and pushed back my chair, standing up.

Wyatt frowned. "Where are you going?"

"Away from you," I said simply, flipping my hair over my shoulder.

His jaw clenched. "Yanna, sit down."

I laughed. "Are you dumb? I just told you I'm in pain and you basically told me to shut up about it. You think I'm about to sit here and keep entertaining you?" I pulled my phone out of my purse, unlocking it. "Nah, I'll go entertain myself elsewhere."

Wyatt sighed, rubbing his temple like I was his problem. "Jesus, Yanna. You're being so dramatic."

Dramatic? Dramatic?!

I squared my shoulders and leaned down just a little, lowering my voice so only he could hear. "No, Wyatt. Dramatic is me throwing this champagne in your face and letting the entire restaurant know what a little boy you are."

He stared at me, jaw tight, nostrils flaring slightly. But he didn't say anything. Because he knew. He knew I wasn't bluffing.

I straightened up, adjusting my bracelet. "Yeah. That's what I thought." I turned on my heel, snatching up my purse, and started walking toward the exit, my heels clicking against the marble floor.

I pulled out my phone and immediately texted Rina.

Yanna: bitch come scoop me this nigga is a DUB

Rina: LMAOOO omw

The night air was crisp, the city alive around me as I stood on the corner outside Le Jardin, my arms crossed over my chest. The glow from the restaurant's golden lights spilled onto the sidewalk, reflecting off the sleek cars pulling up to valet. Inside, people dined on overpriced meals and clinked their glasses to whatever meaningless conversation rich people had.

And here I was, waiting for my best friend to come rescue me from yet another disastrous date with Wyatt.

I exhaled sharply, shifting my weight onto one foot. My phone buzzed in my hand, and I already knew who it was before I even looked.

Wyatt: I'm sorry, baby. I love you. Come back.

I rolled my eyes so hard they almost got stuck in the back of my head. Nigga, please.

Love me? Love me? Wyatt didn't even like me. He liked having me. He liked what I represented, what we looked like together, what our families expected us to be. But me? The real me? He never even cared to know her.

I exhaled through my nose and, without a second thought, swiped down and put my phone on Do Not Disturb. I already knew what the next few texts would say. The fake apologies. The guilt trips. The sweet nothings that meant absolutely nothing. I'd been dealing with Wyatt's bullshit for over a year. A year of forced dates, performative affection, and pretending like I didn't want to throw up every time he kissed me.

A black Mercedes Benz pulled up smooth as hell to the curb, the windows tinted so dark you could barely see inside. My mood instantly lifted.

My girl was here.

The passenger door swung open, and I slid in, sinking into the buttery leather seats. The car smelled like vanilla, Dior perfume, and luxury—money. My kind of environment. Rina, sitting pretty in the driver's seat, turned her head towards me with a smirk, her long acrylics tapping against the wheel. "Girl," she started, dragging the word out like she already knew the mess I just went through.

I buckled my seatbelt with a dramatic sigh. "Don't even get me started."

She laughed, turning up the music—some vibey R&B playing low through the speakers—and pulled off, merging onto the street like she owned it. Which, honestly? She might as well have.

"You already know Wyatt texted me talking about some 'I'm sorry, baby, I love you, come back,'" I said, mocking his deep, monotone ass voice.

Rina scoffed, flipping her bone-straight bust-down over her shoulder. "I know you put that man on DND."

"Immediately." I pulled out my phone, waving it before tossing it into my lap. "Cause be so fucking for real."

"I'm saying." She sucked her teeth, her gold bangles clinking as she rested one hand on the wheel. "You should've let me key his car months ago."

I laughed, leaning my head back against the seat. "You stay tryna commit a felony."

She shrugged, pressing a little harder on the gas. "And?"

That's my girl.

We sped off into the city, both of us smelling like money, looking like everything these men could never have.

We pulled into The Hill Estate, the long driveway leading up to my house lined with perfectly manicured hedges and dramatic uplighting that made the whole place look like some kind of luxury retreat. The mansion stood tall and obnoxiously grand, all glass windows and marble, like something straight out of a movie. This was the kind of house people worked their whole lives to afford, and I had the privilege of being bored of it.

Rina put the car in park and cut the engine, the soft purr of the Benz fading out. She turned towards me with a playful smirk, tilting her head. "Give Malik a kiss for me."

I immediately rolled my eyes. "Girl, be serious."

She giggled, biting her lip. "What? You know that's my man."

"No, it's not." I unbuckled my seatbelt with a dramatic sigh. "Malik don't even know you exist like that."

She gasped, clutching her chest like I'd actually hurt her. "Wow. That's crazy. After all these years?"

I scoffed. "All these years" was insane because Rina had been thirsting over my brother since seventh grade. Back when we were little girls in pleated skirts, and Malik was already too grown to be acknowledging us. He's four years older than us—grown as hell now—and she's still on that same delusional dream.

"You stay on my brother's dick," I teased, opening the door and stepping out of the car.

She leaned over the console, grinning. "And? He fine."

I rolled my eyes again but didn't argue. Malik was aight-ish. That was the problem. But that didn't mean I wanted my best friend fantasizing about him every other week.

I shut the door behind me and walked around to the front of the car, resting my hands on the hood. "I'm about to go change real quick. Gimme ten minutes, then we out."

Rina leaned back against the driver's seat, pressing buttons to mess with the lights. "You already know I'm not leaving till we get turnt."

I smirked, flipping my hair over my shoulder as I strutted towards the front doors. "Duh. That's the whole point."

Tonight was about forgetting Wyatt and his dry-ass love bombing. It was about me and my best bitch, looking good, smelling expensive, and getting turnt.

I walked through the grand foyer of my house, my heels clicking against the marble floors, the soft glow from the chandelier casting a golden hue over everything. The place was quiet, too quiet, which meant Malik was probably in his wing of the house, minding his business like always. Good. The last thing I needed was him grilling me about where I was going or, even worse, seeing Rina and encouraging her delusions.

I made my way upstairs to my room—my sanctuary. Floor-to-ceiling windows, a massive walk-in closet, a vanity lined with designer beauty products, and a California king bed draped in satin sheets. I had everything a girl could want, but at that moment, the only thing I cared about was getting out of this place and into something sexier.

I stepped in front of my mirror, pulling off my dress and tossing it onto my bed before slipping into a slick black mini skirt—one that sat high on my waist and short enough to get me into trouble. I paired it with a matching black corset top, the boning cinching my waist perfectly. My jewelry was already on point, but I added another bracelet just because. Then, I sat at my vanity, reapplying my gloss, making sure my lips were glossy as hell—the type of shine that caught the light just right.

Perfect.

I grabbed my little designer bag, did a quick once-over in the mirror, then strutted out of my room, moving swiftly past security. I didn't even try to tell them where I was going—I just hit them with a, "I won't be late, don't wait up," and slid out the door before they could ask questions.

Rina was still parked out front, waiting like the real one she was. As soon as I stepped outside, she rolled down the window, giving me a once-over before grinning. "Oh, bitch, you ate."

"Duh." I smirked, pulling the door open and sliding into the passenger seat.

Before she even put the car in drive, I reached into the back seat and snatched up the bottle of Hennessy she had tucked away. She just laughed, adjusting the volume on the music before pulling off.

"Shots on the way?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

I twisted the cap off the bottle, tilting my head as I gave her a look. "Do you even have to ask?"

She giggled, holding out her manicured hand as I poured a shot straight into her mouth, then did the same for myself. The liquor burned its way down, but I didn't even flinch. I let the warmth settle in my chest, already feeling looser, lighter.

The city lights blurred past as we sped down the highway, music blasting, our laughter mixing with the bass. We were young, fine, and rich, on our way to get turnt like we had no worries in the world.

We pulled up to the party already feeling it, the Henny warming our veins, the bass from inside rattling the pavement. The house was packed—people spilled out onto the front lawn, red cups in hand, music blasting from speakers set up all around. You could smell the liquor and weed in the air, the kind of scent that told you the night was about to be one for the books.

Rina parked down the street, adjusting her mirror as she checked her lip gloss. "We shutting this bitch down tonight."

I smirked, fixing the straps of my corset. "Like we always do."

We stepped out, heels clicking against the pavement, and immediately turned heads. We smelled expensive. We looked expensive. And we walked like we owned the place.

Inside, the energy was insane. The air was thick, the lights low, and the music? Perfect. Some throwback hip-hop was bumping through the speakers, the kind of shit that made you wanna dance before you even hit the drinks table.

Rina grabbed my wrist. "You already know what time it is."

"Shot time."

We weaved through the crowd, giving cheek kisses and slight nods to people we knew. The liquor table was already half-empty, but there was still enough to keep us going. We took a couple more shots—Rina pouring the dark liquor straight into my mouth, making me giggle as I swallowed it down.

And then? We were on that.

The dance floor was packed, bodies moving, the bass vibrating through our bones. I was gone off the liquor, but in the best way. My hips moved like they had a mind of their own, and before I knew it, I was twerking on some random curly-haired girl, her hands gripping my waist as she matched my energy.

She smelled like candy and weed, and when she leaned in to say something in my ear, her voice was all syrupy and slow. I didn't even hear what she said, but I just laughed and kept moving to the beat. We were in sync.

Rina was right next to me, twerking on some dude who was lowkey struggling to keep up. She threw her head back, laughing, hair swinging as she put that shit on him.

The room was hot, sweaty, alive. It was everything.

For a full hour, we were lit.

And then?

Gunshots.

POP. POP. POP.

The music stopped so fast it felt like my heartbeat dropped with it. People screamed. A wave of panic hit the crowd like a domino effect, everybody scrambling, pushing, running to get out.

"RINA!" I grabbed her wrist, yanking her towards me as people shoved past, knocking over tables, trampling each other to get to the door. My heart was pounding, the Henny still in my system making everything feel slow but fast at the same time.

We rushed out, weaving through the chaos, heels damn near slipping on the floor as we bolted towards the door. More shots rang out behind us, and my stomach dropped—we needed to be gone.

We burst through the front door, hitting the pavement hard, breathless and disoriented. The street was wild, cars peeling off, people running, girls crying.

Rina was gripping my wrist so tight it almost hurt. "THE FUCK?!" she gasped, eyes wide, chest heaving.

I didn't even answer—I just kept pulling her towards the car.

Tonight was supposed to be about fun. But now? We just needed to make it out.

Rina's hands were shaking as she gripped the wheel, her foot pressing down hard on the gas as we sped away from that mess. The Benz jerked left, then right, as she swerved through the traffic of panicked partygoers trying to escape. Horns blared, tires screeched, and my heart was still beating too fast to even think straight.

I gripped the door handle like my life depended on it, my chest still heaving. "Rina!"

"I got it," she snapped, her voice tight. But she was still swerving like she was in a damn car chase.

I swallowed hard, trying to calm down, but the mix of adrenaline and Henny had me feeling all over the place. My stomach was turning, my hands were cold, and my head was spinning.

We needed to be somewhere safe.

"Just go to your crib," I muttered, closing my eyes for a second, willing my body to calm down. "It's closer."

She didn't argue. Just kept her foot pressed on the gas, gripping the wheel tight as we sped through the city, the streetlights casting quick, bright flashes across her face.

The Collins Estate was about fifteen minutes away, but the way Rina was driving, we were there in ten.

As soon as we pulled through the massive black iron gates, I let out a breath I hadn't even realized I was holding. The house—no, the mansion—was just as big and ridiculous as mine. Marble everything, grand pillars, perfectly trimmed hedges. It sat on acres of land, far enough from the city that it felt like another world.

Rina didn't even park right. She just cut the engine, threw the Benz in park, and sat there, both hands still gripping the wheel like she was still driving.

I licked my lips, feeling them dry out, my body finally starting to process everything. "Bitch..."

"I know," she breathed, shaking her head before finally letting go of the wheel.

We sat there for a moment, just breathing, staring straight ahead at the big-ass house like we were processing the crazy shit that just happened.

Then, at the same time, we busted out laughing.

That kind of delirious, post-adrenaline, we-just-almost-died laughter.

"Niggas is so ghetto, I swear to God!" Rina wheezed, slapping her thigh.

I covered my face, still laughing. "Rina, we could've died."

"I KNOW!" she hollered, laughing even harder. "Bitch, I was in Fast and Furious just now."

I shook my head, finally getting out of the car. My legs felt weak as hell, like I'd just run a marathon. "Yo, let's just go to sleep before my heart gives out."

We walked up the long-ass stone steps, pushing through the heavy double doors like we'd done a million times before. Nobody was up—her parents were probably off in France or Dubai or whatever rich people do.

We didn't even bother turning on lights, just stumbled up the wide staircase, too tired to care. Rina's room was just as extra as mine—big, airy, with some ridiculously expensive silk sheets on her bed.

I kicked off my heels, peeled out of my mini skirt, and didn't even bother with my makeup. Rina was already face down on the bed, half-dressed, mumbling something about how she deserved financial compensation for the trauma.

I crawled in next to her, letting out a long breath as the weight of the night finally hit me.

My body still felt jittery from the adrenaline, my heartbeat still a little too fast. But the second my head hit the pillow, my eyes fluttered shut.

And just like that, we knocked out.