The service corridor smelled like lemon disinfectant and old grease. I pushed my janitor's cart through the narrow hallway, the wheels squeaking against the tile. My uniform was damp. It stuck to my back. I'd been scrubbing a wine spill in the kitchen ten minutes ago and the solvent had soaked through my vest.

I pulled out my burner phone. The screen glowed in the dim hallway light. 02:47:31. Two hours, forty-seven minutes, thirty-one seconds until the timer hit zero. Until three years of this ended.

I slipped the phone back into my pocket and kept walking. Ahead of me, the swinging service door leaked light and noise. Music. Laughter. The sharp clink of champagne glasses. The grand opening gala for the resort's new wing was in full swing on the other side.

I stopped at the door and looked through the small window.

The ballroom was massive. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling like frozen fireworks. White marble floors reflected the light. Women in silk gowns glided past men in tailored tuxedos. A champagne tower sat on a long table near the center of the room, golden liquid cascading down the pyramid of glasses. Waiters in crisp uniforms moved through the crowd with trays of hors d'oeuvres.

At the far side of the ballroom, near the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Hamptons coastline, was the VIP section. A cluster of low velvet couches and glass tables. A private bar. That's where the real money sat.

And that's where I saw him.

Julien Chapman. My distant cousin. Though he had no idea who I was.

He sat in the center of the VIP section like a king on a throne. Tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a custom navy suit that probably cost more than most people's cars. His dark hair was slicked back. His smile was wide and easy. He had a glass of scotch in one hand and his other arm draped across the back of the couch. Around him sat a circle of trust-fund socialites. The kind of people who summered in the Hamptons and wintered in Aspen. They laughed at his jokes. Hung on his words. Julien loved it. He leaned back and gestured broadly as he told some story I couldn't hear from here.

I took a breath and pushed through the service door.

The noise hit me first. Voices layered over music layered over the hum of two hundred people pretending to have a good time. The air smelled like expensive perfume and fresh roses. I kept my head down and guided my cart along the edge of the ballroom, staying close to the wall. My job tonight was to clear empty glasses from the side tables and keep the event spaces tidy. Invisible work. The kind nobody noticed unless it didn't get done.

I made my way toward the VIP section. As I got closer, I could hear Julien's voice rising above the rest. He was talking about some yacht party he'd thrown last summer. The others were laughing. One of them — a blonde guy in a white dinner jacket I recognized as Pierce Sterling, another trust-fund heir — clinked his glass against Julien's in a toast.

Then I saw her.

Cassidy Rivera.

She sat on the couch next to Julien, angled toward him with her legs crossed, her phone held up in one hand. She was livestreaming. I could see the little red dot on her screen. Her voice was high and breathy as she narrated to her followers.

"Oh my God, you guys, this gala is insane," she said, panning the phone across the ballroom. "Look at this chandelier. Look at these people. I'm literally sitting with Julien Chapman right now. He's the director of this whole resort. Say hi, Julien!"

Julien glanced at the camera and raised his scotch glass with a lazy grin. "Hey, internet."

Cassidy giggled and swung the phone back to herself. She wore a tight red dress that looked like it cost a month of my rent. Her dark hair fell in perfect waves over her shoulders. Her makeup was flawless. She looked like she belonged here. Like she'd been born into this world.

But I knew better.

I also knew the man standing just behind her. Hovering at her elbow like a shadow.

Kylian Arnold.

My boyfriend.

He wore a black suit that fit well enough but didn't quite match the tailored perfection of the other men in the VIP section. On his wrist was a luxury watch I knew he leased because he couldn't afford to buy it. His hair was styled with too much gel. He laughed at something Julien said, louder than necessary, leaning in like he was part of the inner circle.

But he wasn't. Not really. He was trying. Desperately.

I stopped at a side table near the VIP section and started collecting empty glasses. I moved quietly, my hands steady. I'd done this a thousand times. I was good at being invisible.

Kylian's eyes flicked toward me for half a second. Just long enough to register my existence. Then they slid right past me, back to Julien. He didn't smile. Didn't nod. Didn't acknowledge me at all.

I placed the glasses on my cart, the sound of crystal clinking together barely audible over the noise of the gala.

Cassidy's voice rose again as she continued her livestream, tilting her phone to capture the glittering ballroom behind her. "This is literally the most amazing night ever," she said. "I'm so lucky to be here."

I turned my cart and moved toward the next table.

Two hours and forty-six minutes left.

Julien tilted his head back and laughed at something Pierce said. The sound was loud and loose. He was on his third scotch. Maybe his fourth. He swirled the glass and the amber liquid caught the light from the chandelier overhead.

Then he stood up.

The movement was sudden enough that the circle of socialites went quiet. Julien grinned and spread his arms wide like a ringmaster.

"Alright, alright," he said. "You all know the drill. Every gala needs a little entertainment."

Pierce Sterling leaned forward on the couch, his white dinner jacket unbuttoned. "Oh, here we go."

"What are we doing?" one of the women asked. She wore a silver dress and held a champagne flute in one hand.

Julien's grin widened. "A dare. We need a volunteer."

The group exchanged glances. A few of them smiled. One guy chuckled nervously. This wasn't new. Julien loved these games. He'd done them before at other parties. The kind of stunts that trust-fund kids thought were hilarious and everyone else called hazing.

Julien's eyes swept over the circle. Then they landed on Cassidy.

She was still holding her phone up, livestreaming. Her smile faltered. Just for a second. Her fingers tightened around the phone.

"Cassidy," Julien said, his voice casual. "You're new here, right?"

Cassidy's laugh was high and strained. "Me? Oh, come on, Julien—"

"Yeah, you," Pierce said, sitting up straighter. "Fresh blood."

The others murmured in agreement. Cassidy's face went pale under her makeup. She glanced at Kylian. He was standing just behind her, his champagne glass halfway to his mouth. He froze.

Then he moved.

Kylian turned fast, his eyes scanning the room. They landed on me. I was ten feet away, reaching for an empty glass on a side table.

He crossed the distance in three strides, grabbed my arm, and yanked me toward the circle.

"Use her," Kylian said. His voice was loud. Confident. He shoved me forward, his hand firm on my shoulder. "She's my girlfriend. She can handle anything."

I stumbled. My hip hit the edge of a glass table. The tray I'd been holding slipped from my hands and clattered to the floor. Soapy water splashed across my legs.

The circle went silent.

I stood there, dripping. The chandelier light was directly overhead now, bright and hot. I could feel it on my face. On my soaked uniform. I looked up at Kylian.

He was smiling.

Cassidy exhaled. The sound was loud in the quiet. She swung her phone toward me, the camera lens catching the light. Her voice went bright again, back to that high, breathy tone.

"Oh my God, you guys," she said into the camera. "This is Kylian's girlfriend. She's so cute. Look at her — she's a janitor here. Isn't that adorable?"

The circle erupted in laughter.

I didn't move. My hands hung at my sides. Water dripped from my vest onto the marble floor. I looked at Kylian again. Waiting.

For him to stop this. To pull me back. To say he was joking.

He raised his champagne glass to his lips and took a slow sip. Then he grinned at the crowd.

In my pocket, my phone ticked silently. 02:44:09.

Julien clapped his hands together. "Perfect. Alright, here's the game."

He gestured to Pierce, who stood and walked toward the service door at the back of the VIP section. He disappeared through it. The socialites leaned forward on their couches, murmuring to each other. One of them laughed. Cassidy kept her phone trained on me, narrating to her followers.

"This is going to be so funny," she said. "Stay tuned, guys."

Pierce came back a moment later. He was carrying a bucket. It was gray plastic, the kind used in the resort's fish market. Even from where I stood, I could smell it. Brine. Salt. Something rotten underneath.

Julien pointed at the bucket. "First dare," he said. "Ice-cold fish-market brine. Poured over the contestant's head. Live on camera."

The socialites cheered. Cassidy zoomed in on my face. I could see the red dot on her screen, the little notification that told her hundreds of people were watching.

Pierce hoisted the bucket with both hands, lifting it high like a trophy. The liquid inside sloshed. It was murky and gray. Chunks of something floated on the surface.

The circle of socialites tightened. They formed a ring around me. Cassidy moved closer, her phone steady in her hand.

Kylian stood at the edge of the circle, arms crossed. He looked relaxed. Amused. He raised his voice so the whole group could hear.

"Go ahead," he said. "She won't cry."

I looked at him one more time.

Then I closed my eyes.

Just for one second.

I thought about the timer. About the three years I'd spent scrubbing floors and emptying trash cans and keeping my mouth shut. I thought about the heirloom cedarwood I'd prepared for Kylian. The gift that could have saved his family. The gift he would never see now.

I opened my eyes.

I stood perfectly still.

Pierce lifted the bucket higher. Cassidy's camera zoomed in. The socialites leaned forward.

And Pierce upended the bucket.

The brine hit me like a wall. Ice-cold. It crashed over my head, into my eyes, down my neck. It soaked through my hair, my uniform, my skin. The smell was overwhelming. Fish guts and salt and something rotting. It filled my nose, my mouth. I tasted it on my tongue.

The liquid pooled at my feet. Chunks of something slid down my shoulders and hit the marble floor with wet slaps.

The circle erupted in laughter. Loud. Uncontrollable. Someone clapped. Cassidy shrieked into her phone.

"Oh my God, you guys, did you see that? Did you see her face?"

I stood there, dripping. My eyes burned. My chest was tight. I didn't move.

Kylian was laughing too. His head thrown back, his champagne glass raised in a toast.

In my pocket, the timer ticked.

02:43:44.

The brine kept dripping. Off my hair. Down my back. Into my shoes. The smell was everywhere. In my nose. On my tongue. I could taste the rot.

I didn't move.

The circle of socialites was still laughing. One of them — a woman in a silver dress — had her hand over her mouth, her shoulders shaking. Pierce Sterling tossed the empty bucket aside. It clattered against the marble floor and rolled toward the wall.

Cassidy stepped closer, her phone aimed at my face. The red dot was still on. The camera was still recording. Her voice went high and breathless.

"Oh my God, you guys, she didn't even flinch," she said into the screen. "Look at her. The janitor queen, everyone!"

More laughter. Someone clapped.

I stood there, dripping. My uniform clung to my skin. The chandelier light was too bright. It burned my eyes. I blinked and the brine ran into them. It stung.

I looked at Kylian.

He was still laughing. His head tilted back. His champagne glass raised like he was toasting. Like this was the funniest thing he'd ever seen.

I looked at him and felt nothing.

No anger. No hurt. Nothing.

The thread that had held me to him for three years — the one I'd clung to through every long shift, every aching night, every moment I'd told myself he loved me — snapped.

Clean.

Silent.

Gone.

I turned my head and stared past his shoulder. At the wall. At the chandelier. At nothing.

Cassidy's voice cut through the noise again. She was talking to Julien now, her phone lowered but still recording. Her tone was different. Quieter. Conspiratorial.

"That was good," she said. "But we need more. The views are spiking. Look."

She held her phone up to show him the screen. I couldn't see the numbers from where I stood, but I saw Julien's grin widen.

"More?" he said.

Cassidy nodded. She leaned in close, whispering something I couldn't hear. Julien's eyebrows went up. Then he laughed.

"Perfect," he said.

He stood and clapped his hands together. The circle went quiet again. All eyes on him.

"Alright, alright," Julien said. "That was fun. But we're just getting started."

Pierce sat up straighter. "What's next?"

Julien gestured toward the terrace doors at the far end of the ballroom. Through the glass, I could see the glow of orange light. The fire pit. It had been lit for the gala. A decorative centerpiece on the stone terrace overlooking the water.

"Second dare," Julien said. He raised his scotch glass like a trophy. "The fire pit's fully lit. She reaches in. Bare-handed. And pulls out a charcoal briquette."

The circle erupted.

"No way."

"Are you serious?"

"That's insane."

Julien grinned wider. "Character-building for the help," he said. "Builds resilience."

The socialites laughed again. Cassidy swung her phone back toward me, zooming in on my face. Her voice went bright and mocking.

"You guys, this is getting crazy," she narrated. "Stay with me. This is going to be epic."

Pierce stood and walked toward me. He grabbed my arm. His grip was firm. He steered me toward the terrace doors.

I didn't resist.

The crowd parted as we walked. People turned to stare. A few of them whispered. Most of them smiled.

Kylian followed. He stayed a few steps behind, his champagne glass still in his hand. He didn't say anything. Didn't stop Pierce. Didn't look at me.

Pierce pushed open the terrace doors. The night air hit me. Cold. Sharp. It cut through the wet fabric of my uniform. The smell of the brine mixed with the smell of burning wood.

The fire pit was in the center of the terrace. Round. Stone. About three feet across. Flames rose from the center, licking at the edges of the pit. The charcoal briquettes glowed orange and white. Heat radiated off them in waves.

The socialites poured out onto the terrace behind us. They formed a loose circle around the fire pit. Cassidy pushed to the front, her phone raised. The red dot was still on.

Julien walked to the edge of the pit and looked down at the flames. Then he looked at me.

"Go ahead," he said. His voice was casual. Like he was asking me to pick up a napkin.

I stood at the edge of the pit. The heat pressed against my face. My hands hung at my sides. Water dripped from my fingertips onto the stone.

In my pocket, my phone ticked.

02:41:22.

I looked at Kylian.

He was standing at the back of the circle. Arms crossed. Watching.

I waited.

For him to say something. To stop this. To pull me back.

He raised his champagne glass to his lips and took a slow sip.

Then he spoke.

"She's built tough," he said. His voice was loud. Confident. "She can take it."

The socialites murmured in agreement. Cassidy zoomed in on my face again.

I looked down at the fire pit. At the glowing coals. At the flames.

Then I reached into my pocket and pulled out my burner phone.

The screen glowed in the firelight.

02:40:58.

I stared at the numbers.

Two hours and forty minutes.

That's all that was left.

I looked at Kylian one more time.

Then I put the phone back in my pocket.

And I waited.