At ten o'clock, Nyra tapped a spoon against her champagne glass.

The music dropped. Every head turned. She stood on the edge of Nico's couch like a little girl on a stage, holding two crystal bowls against her chest.

"Okay, everyone! Game time!" Her voice bounced off the high ceiling. "This bowl has all our names. This one has dares. I pull a name, I pull a dare. No take-backs!"

Nico sat up. For the first time all night, he looked interested.

"What kind of dares?" he drawled.

Nyra winked at him. "The fun kind."

People laughed and crowded closer. Chloe Jenkins from front desk squealed and clapped. Drake moved to stand behind Nyra, like a bodyguard. He still hadn't looked at me.

I stayed by the window. The glass was cold on my back. The fire pit glowed on the terrace, and somebody had set a wide metal tray beside it. Black lumps sat on the tray, red at the edges. I hadn't noticed it before.

My stomach went tight.

The first few rounds were easy. A busboy had to sing. A bartender had to do push-ups. Nico laughed at all of it, but his laugh was getting thin. He kept checking his watch.

Then Nyra reached into the name bowl again.

I watched her hand. I had cleaned rooms for three years. I knew how people moved when they were hiding something. Her fingers didn't dig. They didn't search. She just closed them, quick, like the paper was already waiting there.

She unfolded it and gasped.

"Lilian!"

Every face turned to my corner. Somebody whistled.

Nyra dipped into the dare bowl. Again, no searching. She read it, and her hand flew to her mouth.

"Oh no," she whispered. Then louder, so the whole room could hear. "Walk barefoot across the coals."

The room went quiet. Then Nico laughed. A real laugh this time. He set his glass down and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.

"Now we're talking," he said.

Nyra's eyes went huge and wet. "Oh my gosh, I feel so bad. I wrote that one for me. It was supposed to be *my* draw. But I have such sensitive skin, I just can't—" Her lower lip trembled. She turned and looked up at Drake. "Drakey, I didn't mean for it to be her. I swear."

Drake touched her shoulder. "It's fine, Ny. It's not your fault."

*Not your fault.* She'd written it. She'd picked it. And he was comforting her.

Everyone was looking at me now. Waiting. I could feel their eyes like hands.

I shook my head.

"No," I said quietly. "I'm not doing that."

A few people groaned. Chloe muttered, "Wow. Buzzkill." Nico sighed loudly and picked his glass back up, like I was a TV show that had turned boring.

Drake's face changed. I knew that look. Jaw tight. Nostrils wide. He crossed the room in five steps.

He grabbed my arm above the elbow. Hard. His fingers pressed right into the bone.

"Stop making a scene," he hissed into my ear. His breath smelled like whiskey and mint. "It's one dare. Just do it and stop embarrassing me in front of everyone."

"Drake, it's *fire*."

"It's party coals. Half of them are out." His grip got tighter. "Nico is watching. Do you understand? Don't ruin this for me."

*For me.* Not for us. It had never been us.

He didn't wait for my answer. He steered me toward the terrace doors. My sneakers squeaked on the polished floor. People stepped aside to let us through. Nobody stopped him. Nobody said a word.

The wind hit me outside. Cold and salty. Behind the railing, the ocean roared in the dark.

The tray was wider up close. Six feet long, maybe. The coals ticked and hissed. Heat rolled up into my face.

I pulled my phone from my pocket. My hand was shaking.

02:41:17.

Two hours and forty-one minutes.

I could say it. Right now. *I am Lilian Salazar.* I could watch Nico's face fall. I could watch Drake let go.

But then three years would mean nothing. The blisters, the bleach burns, the nights I cried in the supply closet. Grandpa's voice in my head: *If you break, you were never meant to lead.*

I put the phone away.

I bent down and untied my sneakers. My fingers were stiff. I peeled off my socks. The stone terrace was freezing under my bare feet. My torn blister from this morning stung in the wind.

Behind me, somebody held up a phone. Then another. The little red lights blinked on.

I stepped onto the tray.

The pain was white. It didn't feel like heat at first. It felt like teeth. I took a second step. A third. I bit my cheek so hard I tasted copper. I did not run. I did not scream. I would not give them that.

The smell reached me before the last step. Burnt skin. Mine.

I stepped off onto the cold stone. My knees almost folded. I grabbed the railing and held on.

Nico jumped up and whooped. "Yes! *That's* what I'm talking about!" He raised his glass to the room. "The maid's got guts!"

Everyone cheered with him. Like they had been on my side all along.

I looked back for Drake.

He was standing by the doors. His shoulders dropped, slow and loose, like a man who had just dodged a bill. He let out a long breath.

Then he slid his arm around Nyra's waist.

She leaned her head on his chest. Over his shoulder, she looked straight at me. And she smiled.

My feet throbbed with every heartbeat. Out in the black water, a wave hit the rocks and broke apart.

In my pocket, my phone buzzed again.

I found a stool behind the bar, near the kitchen door. Nobody looked at me there.

A busboy slid me a wet rag without a word. I pressed it to the bottom of my feet. The cold made me suck air through my teeth. The skin was red and shiny. A white blister had already swelled under my big toe.

Inside, the music was back. Nico's laugh rose over everything.

I checked my phone. 01:47:12.

Slow. But it was moving.

Then footsteps. I knew them. I had listened for them in hallways for three years.

Drake stopped in front of me. He didn't look at my feet. He looked at my face, and he didn't like what he saw.

"What are you doing back here?"

"My feet are burned, Drake."

"They're fine. You walked off on your own." He crossed his arms. "You're sitting here looking miserable on purpose. Everyone can see you."

I pressed the rag harder. Water ran down my ankle. "On purpose?"

"Yes. Making a face like we tortured you. It makes me look bad. It makes Nyra look bad."

"Nyra picked my name. She didn't even look in the bowl."

He rolled his eyes. "She's just having fun. God, Lil. Not everything is about you."

He crouched down so we were eye level. For one second, I thought he might take the rag. Hold my foot. Say sorry.

He didn't.

"Listen," he said low. "Nico asked what my dad does. Actually asked. Guys like us don't get a seat at that table. Ever. This is once in a lifetime."

"Guys like us," I repeated.

"Don't do that." His jaw ticked. "Don't make me the bad guy. I'm always thinking about you. Who bought you that designer compact for your birthday? Do you know what that cost me?" He shook his head. "But you never appreciate anything."

My hand slid into my dress pocket. My fingers closed around the little case. It was light. Too light. The gold paint on the logo was already flaking at the corners.

I knew what it cost him. I had checked. I knew what was inside it, too.

"Thank you," I said quietly.

He didn't hear the edge in it. He stood and smoothed his shirt. "Good. Come back in. And smile."

---

I went back in. I didn't smile.

The rounds went on. A spa girl ate a whole lemon. A bellman kissed a potted plant. Every time Nyra reached into the bowl, I watched her fingers. Every time, I checked my phone.

01:20. 01:04.

Then two waiters carried in three steel buckets and set them in the middle of the floor. Ice clinked against the metal. The smell hit me a second later. Sour milk. Fish heads. Fryer grease. Someone had scraped the kitchen trays into them.

Chloe gagged and laughed at the same time. "Oh my God, what *is* that?"

"Final dare of the night!" Nyra sang. "Three buckets. Right over the head!"

Nico clapped slowly. "Okay. I take it back. This party doesn't suck."

Nyra reached into the name bowl. I didn't need to watch her hand this time.

"Lilian!" She pressed her palm to her chest. "No way. Again? That's so crazy."

Nobody thought it was crazy. They were already turning to me, grinning.

Nyra pulled out her phone. Her thumb tapped fast. She held it low and tilted it up at me, the angle that gives anyone three chins. Her own face sat in the corner of the screen, soft and pink and pretty.

"Hi, guys! We're live from the cutest party ever," she breathed. "So this is Drake's girlfriend. Oh my God, you guys, she actually volunteered — she is such a good sport!"

I hadn't said a word.

Hearts floated up her screen. Then comments. I could read them from where I stood. *ew is that a maid lol. she looks so desperate. drake can do better.*

I looked at Drake.

Just once more. I didn't speak. I didn't need to. Three years. The shifts I covered for him. The rent I paid when he was short. The way he used to hold my hand on the cliff path. He knew what I was asking.

He looked at the floor.

"Babe," he muttered. "Just get it over with. Everyone's watching. Don't embarrass me."

Something in my chest went very still. Not broken. Just quiet. Like a door closing in an empty house.

I checked my phone. 00:58:40.

Less than an hour.

I set it face down on the bar. I walked to the first bucket. The handle was freezing and slick. It was heavier than I thought.

I didn't wait for them to count.

The cold hit like a slap. Ice cracked against my scalp. Something soft slid down my neck and into my dress. Rotten lettuce. Grease. The smell crawled up my nose and into my throat.

The room screamed with laughter.

I picked up the second bucket. My arms shook. I poured it. A fish bone caught in my hair. Dirty water stung my eyes.

The third bucket. I lifted it high and tipped it slowly. I let every drop fall.

Then I set it down. Gently. The way I set down a guest's things when I cleaned their room.

I stood there, dripping. My teeth chattered so hard my jaw ached. A gray puddle spread around my burned feet.

Nico was bent over, slapping the couch. Chloe had her phone up too. Someone started chanting. "Maid! Maid! Maid!"

The number at the top of Nyra's screen kept jumping. 8,000. 9,500. 10,200.

She stepped closer and zoomed in until my face filled her whole screen.

"Aww, sweetie," she cooed. "You're so brave."

Outside, the wind howled off the water. The fire pit flared once, then bent low to the ground.

Like it was bowing.

Somebody finally turned the music back up. Under it, people were still laughing.

I grabbed my phone off the bar and walked to the staff bathroom. Each step left a gray print on the floor. Nobody stopped me. Nobody offered me a towel.

The bathroom was small and white and too bright. I turned on the tap and splashed water on my face. It ran brown into the sink. I pulled a fish bone out of my hair and dropped it in the trash.

The door opened behind me.

Pink dress. Pink nails. Nyra.

She didn't speak at first. She walked to the next sink, set her phone face down, and looked at herself in the mirror. Then she took out a little comb.

"You can drop it now," I said. "There's no camera in here."

"I know." Her voice was different. Lower. Flat. The little-girl pitch was gone, like someone had switched off a radio. "That's why I came."

She ran the comb through her hair. Slow strokes.

"Drake tells me everything, you know. He calls me after your dates. On his drive home."

I turned off the tap. My hands stayed on the sink.

"He says you're clingy. That you text him good morning like it's your job." She tilted her head and checked her left side. "He says he stays because he feels bad for you. No family. No money. Leaving you would be like kicking a puppy."

"Get out, Nyra."

"Oh, and this one's my favorite." She met my eyes in the mirror. She almost smiled. "He says you cry after sex. Every time. He thinks it's the weirdest thing. He laughs about it."

My knuckles went white on the porcelain.

That was mine. The one thing that was only mine. His tiny apartment, the window open, the ocean outside. I cried because I had never felt safe with anyone before. I told him that. I told him why.

And he gave it to her. Like a joke at a bar.

"Why are you telling me this?" My voice came out rough.

Nyra put the comb away. She tucked one strand behind her ear. Her face was calm. Peaceful, almost. Like a woman folding laundry. She had done this before. To other girls. Many times. I could see it.

"Because you should know where you stand, sweetie," she said. "I'm the one he talks to. You're the one he settles for."

She picked up her phone and checked her lipstick one last time.

Then she pulled the door open, and her voice jumped two octaves before it swung shut.

"Drakey! Wait for me! Oh my gosh, is Nico doing shots?"

The door clicked closed.

The ceiling fan hummed. Water dripped from my hem onto the tile. One drop. Then another.

I gripped the sink until my fingers ached. I made myself look up.

The woman in the mirror was a stranger. Hair stuck flat with grease. Black mascara lines down her cheeks. A torn lettuce leaf on her shoulder. Lips blue from the ice. Feet red and shiny and swollen.

*This is what he let them make me.*

My chest burned. I wanted to scream. I wanted to walk out there and say my name. My full name. I wanted to watch it land on every face.

I took out my phone.

00:58:03.

Fifty-eight minutes.

Three years, and fifty-eight minutes left.

I looked at my reflection for a long time. I watched her breathe. In. Out. Slower each time.

Then I peeled the lettuce off my shoulder and dropped it in the sink. I wiped under my eyes with my thumb. I rolled my shoulders back until my spine was straight.

Grandpa used to stand like that. Before every board meeting. Before every storm.

I tucked the phone into my pocket and walked out.

---

The ballroom was louder than before. More champagne. Half-empty glasses sweating on every table.

Nico stood on the velvet couch now, shoes on the cushions. His shirt was open at the collar and his face was pink. He held a bottle by the neck. No glass anymore.

"Okay. Okay! Shut up, everybody." He waved the bottle. Champagne splashed onto the carpet. "These games are kid stuff. Lemons? Plants? I'm bored."

Nyra giggled up at him. Drake stood beside her, nodding like he agreed with every word.

"Grand finale." Nico pointed the bottle at the black windows. "The cliff ledge. Past the terrace. Somebody jumps."

The room went quiet.

Everyone who worked here knew that ledge. Forty feet down. Rocks on the left. In October, the water was cold enough to stop a heart. There was a sign out there. *DANGER. NO ACCESS.* I had wiped the salt off it myself.

Chloe laughed, but it came out small. "You're kidding, right?"

"Do I look like I'm kidding?" Nico took a long swig. Then his eyes drifted across the room. Slow. Lazy. Like a man choosing dessert.

They landed on me.

I was still dripping by the hallway door.

His mouth curled up.

"You," he said. "Maid girl."

Every head turned. Nyra's phone came up again. The red light blinked on.

"You've been the star all night," Nico drawled. He lifted the bottle at me like a toast. "Let's see if you can swim."

Behind me, the wind threw itself against the glass.

And across the room, I watched Drake take one step toward me.