Nicholas
I'd been leaning against the wall, half-listening to Taylor talk about something I wasn't really paying attention to, when I spotted her across the room.
She was with Luis.
And she was smiling. Not the kind of smile that shows you're comfortable but it was the kind you give when you don't know someone well enough to see the cracks.
I kept watching. Couldn't help it.
Luis handed her a drink. And then—I saw it. The quick, subtle tilt of his hand over the glass. Just enough for something to disappear inside.
My stomach turned cold.
Before I could think, I was moving closer to them shouldering through bodies, closing the space between us in seconds. I didn't bother saying hi. I just took the glass right out of her hand.
Luis looked at me like I'd lost my mind. "Hey, why'd you do that?"
"Why don't you drink it first," I said, my voice low.
The way his face changed told me everything.
Steven appeared a second later, and suddenly it was the three of us, the air so tight it felt like the whole party had gone quiet. Luis threw up his hands, gave some fake surrender line, and walked off like nothing happened.
I turned to her. Her eyes were wide, confused, still trying to catch up to what had just happened.
I turned to her. "You okay?"
Why was Steven asking her the same thing? I saw she needed help first. He didn't have to be here.
She just blinked, still trying to catch her breath. I locked my eyes onto her
"That drink," I said quietly, "It was drugged. I saw Luis slip something in it."
Her expression shifted—shock, then disbelief, then something I couldn't name. I hated seeing it, wanted to make it go away. My hand twitched toward her shoulder, but I stopped. We weren't close. Maybe I'd just make her more uncomfortable.
"Some people here aren't who they seem," I told her. "You gotta watch your back."
I wanted to take her home right then. No discussion. No chance for anyone else to get near her. "I should drive you home. It's not safe for you to stay here." I said.
But Steven cut in. "No. I'll take her." I looked at him, surprised he was pushing back. He didn't flinch. Why?
And then, I told myself it didn't matter who took her, as long as she got home safe. But watching her shift her weight ever so slightly in his direction—it hit harder than I wanted to admit.
Steven nodded at her. "Sit here. I'll grab my shirt and keys."
She hesitated, her voice quiet. "I saw you were busy earlier… I can go home by myself instead."
He didn't even look at my direction when he answered her, his tone firm. "No. I'm taking you home first. That's it."
She sank onto a nearby bench, small against the blur of the party behind her. Every instinct screamed that it should've been me walking her out, me making sure she got home, me who she trusted.
I wanted to go to sit by her, to make her feel at ease, to say something—anything—that might take the weight off her shoulders. But before I could move, Taylor appeared, weaving through the crowd.
"Nick!" she called.
Taylor was weaving through the crowd, her gaze locked on me. Relief flickered in her face like she'd just found something she'd been looking for.
I turned toward her. "Taylor, I just stepped out to get some air."
Her eyes darted to Amelia for a split second, something unreadable passing over her expression, before she looped her hand through my arm and steered me back inside.
Once we were away from the party's noise, she leaned in. "You need to stick beside me. What are you doing with my stepsister anyway?"
I didn't argue—I just nodded. In the early days of our relationship, I used to tell myself maybe this could work. We gave it a shot, tried to meet in the middle, but deep down I knew we were forcing something that wasn't really there. The chemistry felt… mismatched. Like we were ticking boxes for the sake of it, not because we truly fit.
"We need to pretend we're a great couple until our dads' business is settled, okay? I don't want it to look like my partner's cheating on me. Play your part."
I murmured a "sorry" and pulled out my phone while she kept talking. I had Amelia's number I got it from Taylor herself—and I just… needed to know she got home safe.
I typed: Are you home?
Deleted it.
Typed again: Are you home? Nicholas here.
For a second, she was typing. I waited. Then suddenly, it stopped.
I slid my phone into my pocket and grabbed a drink, pretending to listen to the conversations around me while my eyes kept drifting back to the screen. Every few minutes, I checked—nothing. I checked again—still nothing.
Maybe I shouldn't have texted her at all. It felt stupid now, like I'd just handed her proof of how much space she took up in my head. My thumb hovered over the message, hesitation catching in my chest… then I pressed down until the little menu appeared and erased it.
She probably didn't even care.
And I probably cared too much.