Page 131 of The Contract

Harmless enough, I guess.

Mila shoves one of the shots into my hand, clinking her glass sharply against mine.

“To burning this shit down!”

Hell yes. I’ll fucking drink to that.

It goes down easy—dangerously so. A delicious burn coats my throat, slides into my veins, igniting something reckless and wild.

Just like that, the night smooths out, edges softening, air sparking electric.

Before I know it, Mila and I are plunging headfirst into shot number four.

The bass pounds through the floor, thrumming up my legs, pulsing through my bones. The room swirls around me. My limbs loose, liquid and untethered. Arms in the air, hips swaying, bodies colliding—we sink deeper into the beat.

Everything’s funny. Everything’s fucking perfect.

Hands brush. Hips graze. Every touch sparks fire beneath my skin. Music pounds through my chest, perfectly synced to the reckless hammer of my heart.

At some point, Mila disappears into the crush of bodies.

And I don’t even care.

Because right now, I’m floating—suspended in this moment, drunk on movement and freedom. When was the last time I felt like this?

Maybe never.

The next beat triggers an unexpected memory: nights curled up with Kennedy, splitting lukewarm SpaghettiOs and sipping gas station minis, pretending we weren’t broken, lonely, and desperate.

Pretending we weren’t barely fucking holding on.

Sweat slicks my skin, heat curling around me, and for once, I don’t think. Don’t plan. Don’t brace for impact.

I just let go.

Of the fear.

Of the hate.

Of the constant noise in my head.

Until I feel it.

A shift in the air, subtle but unmistakable. An invisible pulse threading through the music, brushing my skin like static electricity.

My pulse trips, stumbles, then surges faster, harder—like my body senses danger before my brain can catch on. Slowly, I lift my eyes.

Two men stand there.

One scans the opposite side of the room—him, I remember. The towering brick wall of a bodyguard from outside.

But the other…

A chiseled jaw. Dark, penetrating eyes locked unmistakably onto me.

Half-shrouded in shadow, yet impossible to miss.

Like a phantom.

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