An Instagram notification flashed across the top of my screen.

Maren had just posted a new nine-grid photo set. The location tag read Malibu Beach.

I tapped the alert. The center square loaded first.

Luca stood on the white sand, his broad shoulders angled perfectly to shield Maren from the harsh ocean wind. She held a martini glass garnished with a lemon slice, flashing a brilliant, carefree smile at the camera.

I scrolled to the comments. Her fans had already flooded the post.

*“Maren finally making it official? The guy beside you has major Alpha energy!”*

*“Great size difference. The rugged man and the beauty. You two match perfectly.”*

Maren replied to the top comment with a shy, face-palming monkey emoji.

A second later, Luca’s handle appeared in the thread.

*“Don't run around. You might get lost in an unfamiliar place.”*

Maren replied instantly. *“Even if I get lost, you'll find me. I'm not afraid.”*

My fingers spasmed against the glass screen.

I tapped Maren’s profile picture and scrolled down. Past the recent beach trips. Past the sponsored makeup posts.

I stopped at last Christmas Eve.

"I picked up a night shift at the auto repair shop," Luca had told me that morning, kissing my forehead. "I need the extra cash to buy your present."

I spent that night entirely alone in the massive Radcliffe estate, watching the Times Square countdown on the television.

Maren’s post from that exact night showed the towering Rockefeller Center Christmas tree. In the foreground of the photo, her manicured fingers were tightly interlaced with a large, calloused hand. Luca's hand.

*“New Year, still with the most manly, reliable person by my side.”*

I swiped further down. Valentine's Day.

Luca had handed me a bulky box wrapped in silver paper. Inside was a starry sky projector.

"I had it custom-made just for you," he had promised.

I never turned it on. I hate the stars.

Maren’s feed featured a photo from six months prior. The exact same projector illuminated her bedroom ceiling.

*“He always knows what I want.”*

A sharp, metallic taste coated the back of my throat. I swallowed hard, trying to force the rust-like flavor away.

My thumb brushed the silver chain around my left wrist. The metal felt like ice against my feverish skin.

"This has a GPS tracker," Luca had whispered when he clasped it on me a year ago. "Now I'll always know where my girl is."

He didn't want to protect me. He wanted to monitor me.

I hooked my index finger under the chain. I yanked.

The clasp snapped. The silver links clattered into the metal trash can beside my bed.

Three days passed.

A private nurse arrived to change the bandages on my ankle. My mother left early for a downtown law firm, finalizing the international asset transfer for our permanent move to London.

Downstairs, the heavy oak front door clicked open.

Luca still had his spare key.

Heavy footsteps echoed on the stairs. He pushed my bedroom door open, holding a pink pastry box tied with a gold ribbon.

"Fever broke?" he asked.

He set the box on the marble nightstand. A Black Forest cake sat inside.

He reached out to stroke my hair. I tilted my head away. His fingers grabbed empty air.

He dropped his hand and let out a heavy sigh.

"Your mom was just worried," he said, brushing off the rejection. "I already apologized to her."

I stared at him.

"Still throwing a tantrum?" he asked, his tone hardening. "Do you know you're acting like a high-maintenance princess right now?"

"I'm not throwing a tantrum," I said.

I looked at the pastry box again. I despise sweets. Maren is the one who craves chocolate cake.

"Change your clothes," he ordered. "I'm taking you out."

"Where?"

"A new horror-themed escape room opened south of the city. Maren wants to go. You're coming too."

I pulled the down comforter up to my chest. "I'm not going."

His jaw tightened. The aggressive edge he used to mask his insecurities flared up instantly.

"Maren specifically saved a ticket for you to smooth things over," he snapped. "If you don't go, who is going to dare take you out in the future?"

"I don't need anyone to take me out."

"Get up, Elise. Stop making everything so difficult."

The escape room lobby smelled of artificial fog and stale popcorn.

Maren stood by the ticket counter. The moment she spotted us, she sprinted over, arms outstretched.

"Elise baby!" she squealed. "I missed you to death!"

She reached to link her arm through mine.

Luca stepped between us, using his broad chest as a shield. "She has an injured foot. Don't bump her."

Maren stopped and stuck her tongue out. "Got it. Luca always favors Elise."

"Obviously," Luca retorted, puffing out his chest. "If I don't favor my girlfriend, who do I favor?"

"You guys are so boring," Maren teased, rolling her eyes. "These past few days of the trip, you weren't around to play with me. Luca the jerk has no sense of romance at all."

A staff member approached carrying a bundle of black fabric.

"Put these blindfolds on," the employee instructed. "Form a single file line. Place your right hand on the shoulder of the person in front of you."

I tied the coarse cloth over my eyes. Total darkness swallowed the room.

I took my place at the back of the line. I raised my hand and pressed my palm against Luca's shoulder.

The fabric of his flannel shirt felt rough. Beneath it, his muscles shifted.

He was reaching forward.

I kept my hand steady, feeling the movement of his arm. He was holding Maren’s hand. He was guiding her.

"Careful, there are steps ahead," Luca murmured.

His voice was impossibly soft. He aimed the warning straight forward, entirely focused on the girl in front of him.

I took a step. My ruined ankle gave out.

My sneaker caught the edge of the wooden stairs. I stumbled forward, my knee slamming hard into the floorboards.

Pain shot up my leg, sharp and immediate.

"Luca," I gasped.

He didn't stop walking. He didn't turn around.

The heavy metal door of the escape room slammed shut behind us, cutting off the lobby music.

"Keep holding my hand," Maren whispered in the dark.

"I won't drop it," Luca answered.

The floor beneath me suddenly groaned, and the sound of a locking mechanism echoed through the pitch-black corridor. I pushed myself up from the cold floor, realizing the true horror wasn't the game we were about to play.

The blindfolds came off.

The escape room staff had handed out exactly two small flashlights before locking us inside the maze. The weak beams barely pierced the artificial fog pumping through the air vents.

Maren shrieked the moment the heavy metal door bolted shut.

"Luca, I'm scared," she squealed, shrinking directly into his chest. "You have to protect me."

Luca wrapped a thick arm around her shoulders, pulling her flush against his side. A low, indulgent chuckle rumbled in his throat.

"You are terrible at this," he teased, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Who begged for the horror theme out in the lobby?"

"I don't care," Maren pouted, tapping his chest playfully. "If you don't guard me, we are so done."

They leaned into each other, their flirtation bouncing off the claustrophobic walls. Luca held one flashlight. Maren swung the other.

I trailed behind them, chasing the faint, erratic spillover of light on the scuffed floorboards. My ruined ankle throbbed with every step. The bandages felt tight and damp.

"Slow down," I said to his back. "My foot hurts."

Luca didn't break his stride. "Escape rooms have time limits, Elise."

"I am barely keeping up."

"You cannot always expect everyone to accommodate you," he snapped over his shoulder.

He aimed his light forward, illuminating a narrow, twisting corridor. I dragged my injured leg, forcing myself to ignore the sharp sting tearing at my flesh.

At a fork in the path, they stopped.

Maren shot him a conspiratorial glance. Luca met her gaze and nodded.

*Click.*

Both flashlight beams vanished instantly.

Heavy, suffocating blackness swallowed the corridor. The silence stretched, thick and terrifying.

"Luca?" I reached out. "Maren?"

My fingers swiped through empty, freezing air. The scuff of their sneakers faded quickly down the left tunnel. They were running.

They abandoned me in a pitch-black maze.

I pressed my palms against the damp plaster wall. I dragged my feet forward, blindly navigating the total darkness. My breathing turned shallow.

A mechanical roar shattered the silence.

An actor wearing a blood-soaked apron lunged from a hidden alcove. He shoved a revving prop chainsaw inches from my face and screamed.

"Ah!" My knees buckled.

I hit the floor hard. Tears spilled down my cheeks, hot and fast, choking my throat. Panic seized my chest. I scrambled backward, curling into a tight ball against the baseboards.

The actor dropped his weapon. He pulled off his grotesque mask, his eyes wide with alarm in the dim emergency lighting.

"Hey, are you okay?" he asked, his terrifying persona entirely gone.

I sobbed, burying my face in my hands. Nothing stopped the tears.

He grabbed a walkie-talkie from his belt. "Code yellow in sector four. Bring the master keys. We have a guest down."

Ten minutes later, a staff member guided me through a steel fire door.

Blinding California sunlight stabbed my swollen eyes. I blinked against the harsh glare, wiping the wet streaks from my cheeks.

Luca and Maren lounged in the exit patio. Maren leaned against his shoulder, sipping an iced cola and scrolling through her phone.

She looked up. A cruel, bright smile split her face.

"Elise, you are such a coward!" Maren pointed at my tear-stained face, bursting into a fit of giggles. "You actually had to get escorted out by the staff?"

Luca’s brow creased. He stepped toward me, his expression hardening.

"Escorted out?" he demanded. "You could not figure out a simple path?"

I stared at him. "Why did you turn off the lights?"

"I am helping you desensitize," Luca said, his tone perfectly casual.

"Desensitize?"

"You do not know left from right. If I do not force you once, when will you learn to navigate?" He crossed his arms, looking down at me. "I refuse to be your bodyguard forever."

Maren pranced over, a sugary smile plastered on her lips.

"Don't be mad, Elise," she cooed. "We didn't leave you behind this time."

I turned away from them and limped toward the parking lot.

Maren shifted her weight. Her designer sneaker slid directly into my path.

My toe caught her heel. I crashed onto the concrete.

The scab on my ankle tore open completely. Fresh, bright blood spilled over my skin, pooling against the hot pavement. The pain radiated up my leg, blinding and absolute.

A camera flash exploded in my vision.

Maren shoved a GoPro directly into my face.

"Guys, look at this!" Maren laughed into the lens, her voice shrill and excited. "My spoiled aristocratic bestie got so scared in the escape room, her legs gave out! Tripping on flat ground! This vlog material is insane!"

She giggled wildly, the camera light flashing in rapid succession.

Luca stood two feet away. His gaze dropped to the blood running down my calf. His jaw clenched. He shifted his weight, but he did not move an inch to help me up.

"Don't film too long," Luca muttered to Maren. "She cares about her pride."

It felt like someone had packed my chest with crushed glass. Every breath shredded my lungs.

I scrambled upward, ignoring the searing pain in my leg. I lunged at the GoPro.

"Stop filming!" I yelled.

Maren yanked the camera back. The plastic casing slipped from her grip and clattered onto the concrete. The momentum threw her off balance. She stumbled backward, letting out a sharp gasp.

Luca’s expression morphed into pure panic.

He shoved me hard in the chest. I slammed against the brick wall.

He wrapped both arms around Maren, pulling her securely against his chest, shielding her from me.

"Elise! Are you crazy?" Luca shouted.

I clutched my bruised ribs, staring at the man I had loved for years.

"Maren was just joking with you!" He pointed at the scratched camera on the ground. "Did you have to smash her equipment?"

"She tripped me," I said, my voice eerily calm.

"Do you know how important this is to a full-time vlogger?" Luca bellowed, his voice echoing across the empty patio. "You think everyone is born with endless trust funds like you?"

I leaned against the rough bricks. The boy who once rode his bike for miles just to check my tires was entirely gone.

"The equipment is important," I whispered. "I am not."

Luca froze. The absolute deadness in my eyes seemed to strike him. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.

I did not wait for his excuse. I turned my back on them both.

I dragged my bleeding leg across the asphalt, limping out of the lobby gates without looking back.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out with shaking hands.

A text message from my mother's attorney illuminated the cracked screen.

*"Miss Radcliffe, your flight to London is confirmed for tonight. However, Luca is currently at the estate gates, and he refuses to let the moving trucks leave."*