Chapter 2

Ethan' s penthouse was packed. Music throbbed from hidden speakers, and the air smelled of expensive perfume and champagne. I limped through the crowd, my leg screaming with every step. I had wrapped it tightly, but the bone was still broken. I could feel it grinding.

I wasn't part of the main group. Ethan had made that clear. He and Brittany were the center of attention, holding court by the massive floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city. He had his arm wrapped possessively around her waist, laughing at something she said. He didn't even glance in my direction.

I found a spot in a dim corner, trying to make myself invisible. But someone noticed me.

"Hey, isn't that Chloe?" one of Ethan's friends, a man named Mark, called out. "I thought Ethan kicked you to the curb again."

A few people snickered. My face burned with shame.

Ethan heard him. A slow, cruel smile spread across his face. He enjoyed seeing me squirm. "She's here," he said, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. "She's learning her lesson."

He beckoned me over with a flick of his fingers, like he was calling a dog. I had no choice but to obey. I limped toward him, the pain in my leg a dull, constant roar.

"Since you're here, you might as well join the game," Ethan said, his eyes glittering.

The game was "Truth or Dare," but with a vicious twist. It was an excuse for them to humiliate each other. The bottle spun, landing on Ethan.

The dare was chosen for him by the crowd: a ten-second kiss with the person of his choice.

Everyone started chanting Brittany's name. "Brittany! Brittany! Brittany!"

She blushed, feigning modesty. "Oh, I couldn't," she said, glancing at me with fake sympathy. "It wouldn't be fair to Chloe."

Her words just highlighted my pathetic position. She was the chosen one. I was the discarded toy.

Ethan looked at me, a challenge in his eyes. He was waiting to see what I would do. He loved this, pitting us against each other.

"It's okay," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

But Ethan shook his head. "No, a kiss is too boring." He turned to me, his smile widening. "I have a better idea. Chloe, if you can drink this entire bottle of tequila without stopping, I won't have to kiss anyone."

He held up a full bottle of Patrón. It was a punishment, not a dare. He knew I rarely drank.

I looked at the bottle, then at his face. I was desperate. "And if I do it... will you take me back?"

His expression was unreadable. "We'll see."

That was enough. It was always enough.

I took the bottle, the glass cool against my trembling hands. The crowd cheered me on, their voices a predatory roar.

I tilted my head back and started to drink. The tequila burned a path down my throat, raw and searing. My stomach churned. I kept going, forcing the liquor down, my eyes watering. The world started to spin.

Mark clapped Ethan on the back. "Man, you really know how to train them. She'd do anything for you."

One of Ethan's other friends, a guy named Josh, looked a little uneasy. "Isn't this a bit much, Ethan? She's clearly hurt."

"She loves it," Ethan said with absolute certainty. "It proves how much she wants me."

My head was swimming. The bottle was almost empty. I could hear Ethan' s voice, a distant, distorted sound. I felt a surge of nausea and tried to pull away, but someone grabbed my arm, holding me in place.

"Finish it!" a voice yelled.

Someone else forced the neck of the bottle back to my lips, spilling tequila down my chin and onto my shirt. I choked, sputtering.

Finally, I wrenched myself free and stumbled away, pushing through the laughing crowd. I barely made it to the bathroom before my body gave out. I collapsed in front of the toilet, retching violently. The tequila came up, burning and bitter.

My leg was on fire. My head was pounding. I splashed cold water on my face, trying to clear my vision. I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My face was pale and slick with sweat, my eyes red and bloodshot.

The bathroom door opened. It was Brittany.

She leaned against the doorframe, a smug smile on her face.

"You really are pathetic," she said, her voice dripping with contempt. "A dog begging for scraps."

She walked closer, her heels clicking on the marble floor. "He's never going to take you back, you know. He told me you're just entertainment. A fun little game to see how far you'll go."

I tried to stand, to tell her to get out, but my legs wouldn't cooperate.

She grabbed a handful of my hair, yanking my head back. "He's mine now."

I swatted at her hand, trying to push her away. It was a weak, clumsy movement.

But she was ready for it. She let go of my hair and stumbled backward, letting out a small, theatrical cry of pain.

"Ow! You pushed me!"

She clutched her arm, a look of pure, calculated innocence on her face. It was a performance. And I knew, with a sinking feeling in my stomach, that the audience was about to arrive.