Page 187 of Before We Were

"Where's Jake?" Ollie asks, his grin fading as he takes in our expressions.

Nate leans back, voice flat as desert sand. "He left. Apparently, Farrah's more fun than we are."

Marcus perks up. "Shay and Harlow are throwing something tonight. I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s where they were heading."

"Well looks like we’re going to a party then," Ollie says, already moving toward the door. "I'll drive!"

"No, you won't," Mia cuts in, planting herself in his path. "You've had too much already."

"I'm fine," Ollie protests, but Mia's stern look silences him.

"I'll drive," she declares, gesturing to Marcus and Camilla. "You three are coming with me."

"You two okay to ride together?" Camilla asks, glancing between Nate and me with knowing concern.

"I'm driving," I say quickly, before Nate can object.

He groans, rubbing his face. "Fine."

Mia shepherds her group out, and Nate pushes off the couch with deliberate slowness, like every movement costs him. At the door, he pauses and looks back. "Don't get your hopes up."

I don't reply because hope isn't what's driving me anymore. It's fear—fear of what Jake might do, fear of losing him, fear of everything falling apart.

The late afternoon air bites at my exposed skin as Nate unlocks the Range Rover and slides into the passenger seat. I start the engine, the dashboard casting an eerie glow across his face. He looks exhausted. I pull out of the driveway, the silence between us heavy with unspoken words.

What the hell are we about to walk into?

The party hitsme like a wall of chaos—pure, unfiltered teenage rebellion ripped straight from a movie screen. Music thunders through the walls, making my ribcage vibrate. Bodies pack every corner like sardines, the air thick with the sickly-sweet smell of spilled beer and stale smoke. Red cups litter every surface, and the kitchen's a warzone of scattered liquor bottles and sticky counters. A couple is tangled against the wall in the living room, lost in their own world. A whoop echoes from upstairs, and I force my mind away from what that might mean.

This is not my world. I feel like an imposter as I navigate through the crowd, searching for Jake's familiar face. People greet Nate like he's returned royalty, but his expression remains distant, focused. His hand hovers protectively over my lower back as he guides me through the chaos, his broad frame carving a path through the sea of bodies.

He leans down, his breath warm against my ear. "I'm gonna check out back. You good here?"

I nod quickly, trying to project confidence I don't feel. "Yeah, I'm fine."

He studies me for a moment, clearly unconvinced, but heads toward the sliding glass doors, leaving me to navigate this maze alone. I walk aimlessly around for a few minutes. The bass-heavy music pulses through my chest as I squeeze past sweating bodies, muttering apologies. The air feels thick, almost unbreathable, and my eyes dart frantically, searching for Jake.

Instead, I collide with someone else entirely.

"Sorry," I mumble, looking up, and my world stops spinning.

Time freezes, the music fading to white noise.

Evan.

His predatory eyes rake over me like hot coals, and my stomach lurches. Ice floods my veins.

"Well, well," he drawls, lips curling into that familiar, sinister smile. "Look who it is."

I want to run, to scream, to shove past him, but my body betrays me, locking up as terror coils around my throat like a snake.

"You've been avoiding me," he says, stepping closer, his voice a poisonous whisper. "Starting to think you were doing it on purpose."

"Leave me alone," I manage, my voice trembling like a leaf in a storm.

But he doesn't. He leans in, his breath hot and suffocating against my skin.

"Remember what I told you, Nora? Open your mouth and those sexy little videos go viral. You wouldn't want that, would you?"

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