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.

Drake didn't ask. He didn't even slow down.

He crossed the room and grabbed my wrist. Not my arm this time. My wrist. His thumb pressed right into the bone, the same spot he used to kiss when I came home from double shifts.

He started walking. I went with him for three steps. Maybe four.

Then I stopped.

My burned feet hit the carpet, and I dug in. Pain shot up my legs. I didn't care. I leaned back with all my weight.

He felt it. He turned around.

His face went dark. Not angry-dark. Something worse. Something flat and cold I had never seen on him before. Or maybe I had, and I just never wanted to look.

He pulled me close. His mouth was right against my ear.

"My family's business is drowning," he whispered. His breath was hot and sour. "You know that. Dad's three months from losing everything. Nico could save us. One phone call from his father, and we're fine."

"Drake. It's forty feet."

"People jump it all the time in summer."

"It's October."

His grip got tighter. My fingers started going numb.

"I have done *everything* for you," he said. "I picked you. A maid. Do you know what people say about that? And now I need one thing. One." He pulled back just enough to look in my eyes. "If you won't do this for me, then you never actually loved me."

There it was. The same trick he always used. Make the cruel thing my choice. Make the knife my fault.

I opened my mouth.

He didn't let me answer. He shoved me hard toward the terrace doors.

---

I stumbled through them. My shoulder hit the frame. The doors swung wide, and the night came in.

The wind hit me like a wall. It went straight through my wet uniform. It felt like knives. Dozens of them, all at once. My whole body locked up. My teeth slammed together.

The fire pit was low now. Just orange coals. The metal tray still sat beside it.

I walked past it. Toward the railing. Toward the little gap where the path went out to the ledge.

I looked down.

Black water. That was all. Black water, moving like something alive. It rose up white against the rocks and fell back and rose again. The sound was huge. It filled my chest. Forty feet down, the Atlantic was waiting.

Behind me, I heard the crowd spill out onto the terrace. Shoes on stone. Somebody laughing. Somebody saying, "Oh my God, is she actually gonna do it?"

My hand went into my pocket. My fingers were so cold I almost dropped the phone.

I hadn't checked it since the bathroom. Somewhere between that mirror and this railing, the hour had bled away. I had been standing there dripping, listening to Nico talk, and I hadn't even felt it go.

I turned the screen toward me.

**00:00:47.**

Forty-seven seconds.

I stared at it. The number dropped. 46. 45.

Three years. Down to the length of a song's chorus.

I put the phone back in my pocket.

Then I turned around. Slowly.

The wind whipped my wet hair across my face. It stung my cheek. I didn't move it. I didn't wrap my arms around myself. I didn't shiver anymore. I don't know how. My body just stopped.

I stood perfectly still.

They were all there in the doorway. Gold light behind them. Nico with his bottle. Chloe with her phone up. Nyra in front, her screen glowing pink, the little red dot blinking.

And Drake. Right in the middle. Hands on his hips. Waiting for me to jump.

I looked him dead in the eyes.

"We're done."

Nobody said anything. One second. Two. Three.

The ocean hit the rocks behind me.

Drake blinked. Just blinked, like I had spoken another language. His mouth opened a little. Nothing came out.

Then Nyra laughed. A bright, tinkly little laugh. She turned the phone toward her own face.

"Oh my gosh, you guys," she giggled. "She's breaking up with *him*. On a *cliff*. I literally can't."

Nico rolled his eyes and took a swig from the bottle. "Boring. Is she jumping or not?"

Drake found his voice. He gave a short laugh, but it cracked in the middle. "Lil. Come on. Don't be dramatic. Everyone's watching."

"I know," I said. "Let them."

"You're cold. You're upset. You don't mean it." He took a step toward me. He held out his hand, palm up. The way you reach for a scared dog. "Just come here."

I didn't move.

In my pocket, the phone buzzed once against my hip. I didn't need to look. I could feel the seconds. Like a pulse that wasn't mine.

*00:00:31.*

I held his gaze. I didn't blink. I didn't flinch. For three years, I had looked away first. Every fight. Every time he made me the problem.

Not tonight.

"You and I are finished, Drake." My voice was quiet. It didn't shake. It sounded like ice on the edge of a glass. "Completely and permanently finished."

His hand stayed out in the air between us. Empty.

For the first time all night, something flickered in his eyes. Not guilt. Not sorry.

Fear. Small and confused, like he didn't know where it came from.

Behind the crowd, far off at the front of the resort, I heard tires screech on gravel.

Nobody else noticed.

I did.