AT THE PARTY NEXTDOOR BY MELLA

It's not that bad, Tyla. It has... character."

I slumped against the kitchen counter, clutching a mug of coffee like a lifeline. "Character" was a generous word for a two-bedroom apartment that currently smelled like industrial-strength floor cleaner and my own lingering anxiety.

The door to our unit swung open. It didn't just open; it was a staged entrance.

Summer walked in, trailed by two bellhops carrying luggage that cost more than my tuition. She looked like she had just stepped off a yacht in Saint-Tropez,blonde hair a silk curtain of perfection, and a white linen set that was suspiciously wrinkle-free.

She took one look at our living room and wrinkled her nose.

"Oh, sweetie," Summer sighed, dropping her designer handbag. She walked over and pinched my cheek, her manicured nails sharp. "The lobby was so promising, but this? It's a bit... cozy. I didn't realize we were going for the 'struggling student' aesthetic."

"It's a student apartment, Summer," Skyler grumbled from the floor, a hex key clamped between her teeth. "Not a Hilton."

Summer ignored her, spinning to inspect the view. "Well, I suppose it's fine for a few months. Though I'll definitely need to call my decorator. This lighting is doing terrible things to your skin, Tyla. You look like you haven't slept in a week."

"I haven't," I muttered. My mind flashed back to Daniel Thorne's dark, stormy eyes. "The neighbor threw a party that lasted until two."

Summer's eyes lit up. "A neighbor? Is he rich? I saw a Ferrari in the parking garage. If he's the one throwing the parties, we need to be on the guest list. A girl's first week in Miami is wasted if she isn't seen at the right tables."

I shivered, remembering Daniel's hand against the wall. "Trust me, you don't want to meet him. He's... a lot."

"Nonsense," Summer smirked, checking her reflection. "There's no such thing as 'too much' for me. Now, get dressed. We're going to brunch. You are not starting your first day of college looking like a laundry basket."

I swapped my oversized shirt for a simple black hoodie and denim shorts. I felt invisible next to her which was exactly how Summer liked it. I watched her adjust her gold jewelry, her movements practiced and cold. I knew Summer. She didn't just want to be the prettiest in the room; she wanted to be the only one allowed to shine.

Fine, I thought, a spark of defiance lighting in my chest. Let her be the target. If Daniel Thorne wants a 'prize,' let him chase the one who's actually asking for it.

The moment we stepped into the lobby, the air changed.

The elevators chimed, and there he was.

Daniel Thorne was dressed in a charcoal-grey tailored suit that screamed power. He was flanked by two men,one grinning at a phone, the other looking like a silent enforcer. Daniel was mid-conversation, his face a mask of cold indifference.

Until he saw me.

I felt Summer stiffen beside me. I watched her transformation in real-time,the way she arched her back and pouted. She stepped directly into Daniel's path, blocking him.

"Excuse me," she said, her voice dropping into a sultry, melodic purr. She flashed her most dazzling, high-society smile. "I think you're the neighbor Tyla was complaining about. I'm Summer. I just moved in, and I simply had to tell you,your car in the garage is absolutely exquisite. Perhaps you could show me around the city sometime?"

She stood there, radiating confidence, waiting for him to fall at her feet.

Daniel stopped. His eyes flicked to Summer for a fraction of a second,a cold, dismissive glance that treated her like a piece of furniture. Then, he looked past her.

His gaze locked onto mine, and the intensity felt like a physical weight.

Summer's smile faltered as Daniel stepped right past her. He didn't just ignore her; he erased her.

He walked straight to me. I was frozen as he invaded my personal space once again. He reached out, his large, warm hand settling on the hood of my sweatshirt. With agonizing slowness, he adjusted the fabric, smoothing it over my shoulders before his fingers grazed the skin of my neck.

"You look tired, Neighbor," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that ignored everyone else in the room. "Did I keep you up?"

"I... I'm fine," I stammered.

He leaned down, his lips inches from my ear. "Wear something better tonight," he whispered. "The party starts at ten. And don't bother knocking this time. The door will be open for you."

He straightened up, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw for a lingering second before he pulled away. He didn't give Summer a second look.

"Let's go," Daniel commanded his men, stepping toward the glass entrance.

"See you at the party tonight, Neighbor," he tossed over his shoulder.

The silence that followed was deafening. I was hyper-aware of the spot where Daniel's fingers had touched my skin. But more than that, I was aware of the person standing next to me.

I turned to look at Summer.

The "perfect" girl was standing as still as a statue. For a heartbeat, the mask slipped. The pretty, polished Summer disappeared, and in her place was something ugly and jagged. Her eyes were fixed on me, narrowed into slits, burning with a flash of pure, venomous hatred.

It was the look of a predator seeing someone else touch her prize.

I see you now, I thought, my heart sinking into a cold dread. I'd spent years trying to be the "safe" best friend, but Daniel Thorne had just painted a target on my back.

"Wow, Tyla," Summer said, her voice suddenly sweet as honey, though her eyes remained frozen. She wrapped her arm through mine, her grip just a little too tight, her nails digging into my skin.

"We definitely have to go to that party," she said, her smile widening into something that didn't reach her eyes. "After all, what are best friends for, if not to make sure you don't get in over your head?"

I looked at her, a chill settling in my stomach. I had moved to Miami to escape my past, but as Summer led me toward the door, I realized the most dangerous person in the city wasn't the man who wanted to keep me.

It was the girl who was currently holding my hand.