Ethan POV
"Charlie, if you think you can out-dance Ace the Great One, you need professional help."
I say it before the music even stops vibrating through the yacht's deck.
Lanterns sway overhead, glittering off the dark water.
The air smells like salt, champagne, and the stupid decisions we haven't made yet.
Charlie puts a hand to his chest dramatically. "Excuse me, I dance with passion."
"You dance like a blender having a seizure."
Our friends howl.
Somebody already has their phone out filming.
I wink at the phone filming me; future me is definitely turning this into my Tinder profile for the next five years.
Ella jumps between us, curls bouncing, cheeks flushed. "Dance-off. Right now. Winner gets bragging rights. Loser takes three shots and compliments the winner all night."
"Oh I'm SO winning," I say, pointing at Charlie. "Get your ego ready to suffer."
The speakers shift songs—bass heavy, perfect.
And then it begins.
Charlie goes first, busting out this weird body-roll-windmill hybrid that makes the entire circle wheeze.
He falls to one knee like he's proposing to the universe, then rises with a dramatic hair flip he absolutely did not earn.
"BOOOO!" I shout. "Your ancestors felt that embarrassment."
He flips me off.
My turn.
I jump in, throwing my entire soul into a move I invented five years ago at three a.m. during a dare: the Chaos Shuffle.
It's stupid. It's exaggerated. It's *beautiful*. Everyone screams. Ella's laughing so hard she nearly spills her drink.
Charlie groans. "Okay, yeah, I'm cooked."
"You never stood a chance," I say, sweat sticking my bleached-and-copper strands to my forehead.
The circle closes around me, cheering.
"ACE! ACE! ACE!"
Our friends explode into applause, grabbing me, shaking me, someone shoving a drink into my hand.
Ella slings an arm around my shoulders. "Champion! Give a victory speech!"
I raise my glass high. "I'd like to thank my parents for giving me legs, Charlie for giving up, and the universe for blessing me with rhythm."
"You have NO rhythm," Charlie mutters.
"Shut up, you sore loser."
He lunges to hit me but ends up hugging me instead because he's drunk and affectionate. "I hate you," he mumbles.
"You love me."
The party dissolves back into chaos—music, dancing, clinking glasses.
Someone hands me a drink.
Another someone tries to teach Charlie how to twerk.
It's all stupid and loud and perfect.
I flop onto the cushions, dragging air into my lungs.
My skin is warm.
My body is loose from dancing, alcohol humming through my veins like a second heartbeat.
Charlie drops beside me. "So. Honest question. What's Daddy going to do when he finds out you stole his yacht?"
"Borrowed," I correct.
"Without asking."
"Details." I rolled my eyes.
Ella leans in on my other side. "He's going to freeze your cards."
"He likes me too much."
"Does he?" Charlie asks.
I chuck a throw pillow at him. "Please. I'm twenty-four. Way too late for parental discipline." I lift my glass in a lazy toast, soaking in the laughter it earns. "Besides, Dad doesn't scare me."
"Sure," another friend teases from across the table, "until he pulls you back by the ear."
"Please," I snort. "If he ever tried, I'd just—"
My phone vibrates on the low table.
**Dad.**
The laughter doesn't exactly stop, but it... shifts.
Quieter. Like everyone's suddenly very interested in their drinks.
Charlie mouths, "Uh-oh'. 'Show time"
I sigh and swipe to answer. "Yeah?"
"Ethan." His voice cuts through the party noise—sharp, controlled, wrong. "Come home. Tomorrow morning. First thing."
I force a chuckle, keeping my tone light. "Miss me already? Want a souvenir? I saw these cute little—"
"Tomorrow," he repeats, harder this time. "No excuses."
The line clicks dead.
Just like that.
No goodbye. No lecture. No threats.
Nothing.
My arm stays frozen, phone still pressed to my ear.
The phone feels suddenly heavy in my hand, like it's made of lead instead of glass.
Around me, everything keeps moving—music booming, people laughing, lights swaying but it all sounds muffled now. Distant. Like I'm underwater.
Charlie's face softens. "Hey. You okay?"
"Yeah," I say automatically. "Obviously."
But the alcohol sitting in my stomach suddenly feels heavier. Thicker.
I swallow and toss the phone onto the cushion like it burned me.
"Seriously though," Charlie presses, leaning closer, "that tone? He sounded... different."
Man, he noticed too. Great.
I force a grin that feels like stretching cracked glass. "Relax. It's just my dad being my dad. Controlling. Dramatic. Probably wants to lecture me about responsibility while standing on his stupid marble floors."
Ella studies me, head tilted. "You look pale. Want me to get you another drink?"
"I don't look pale. I look *gorgeous*," I correct, flipping my hair for emphasis.
A laugh bubbles up around me, but it doesn't quite reach my chest. "But yeah—get me something strong. Something that makes me forget old men barking orders at midnight."
"Coming right up." She squeezes my shoulder before heading to the bar, but her eyes linger on me a beat too long.
I lean back against the cushions, staring out at the water.
Usually, being out here gives me this wild rush—like freedom is something I can taste in the air, something no one can take from me.
But tonight, the ocean looks... deeper. Darker.
Endless in a way that doesn't feel comforting.
Charlie nudges a fresh bottle into my hand. "Hey. Don't overthink it. You'll wrinkle that pretty face."
"I don't overthink," I mutter, taking a burning gulp. "I avoid thinking entirely."
The heat sinks into me fast—warm, reckless, numbing.
And still, my father's voice echoes in my skull.
Come home. Tomorrow. No excuses.
It wasn't a request.
It was a command.
Charlie nudges me again, softer. "Talk to me, man."
I shake my head. "I don't want to talk."
"Then do something stupid," he suggests with a grin. "That's usually your therapy."
And honestly?
He's right.
Too right.
A spark flickers in my chest—reckless, impulsive, *soothing*.
But I don't move yet.
I sit there, letting the music wash over me, letting the dread build in my stomach like a knot pulling tighter and tighter until—
Screw it.
I shoot upright. "You know what? Fine. If Daddy's going to ruin my tomorrow, then I'm ruining tonight first."
Charlie's eyes widen. "Ethan...wait...that tone means...."
But I'm already peeling my shirt off in one quick motion.
The night air slaps against my bare skin. Lantern light paints me gold.
"Ethan, don't you 'dare'—"
I'm sprinting.
Three long strides.
The railing blurs under my palms.
The world drops out from under me.
Then—
SPLASH.
The water swallows me whole.
Cold. Sharp. Alive.
I burst back to the surface, hair plastered to my face, adrenaline roaring through my veins louder than any music.
"ARE YOU INSANE?!" someone screams from the deck.
"WHY ARE WE EVEN SURPRISED ANYMORE?!" Charlie shouts back.
I laugh—loud, wild, unhinged—spreading my arms like the ocean belongs to me.
"See?!" I yell toward the deck, treading water, grinning up at their shocked faces. "No one tells me what to do!"
Phones flash. People cheer and curse in equal measure.
Charlie leans over the railing, shaking his head but smiling despite himself.
The water cradles me, rocking gently.
Above, the moon glows like a coin tossed into the sky.
Stars scattered everywhere.
For a moment—just one perfect, reckless moment—I feel infinite.
Untouchable.
Like the world is too small to contain me.
But then...
My father's voice slips back in. Calm. Cold. *Wrong.*
Tomorrow. No excuses.
A chill runs through me, deeper than the water.
I flip over and start swimming back, my grin thinning with every stroke.
When Charlie and Ella haul me back onto the deck—dripping, breathless, copper-tipped hair plastered to my face—Charlie tries to hand me a towel.
"Ethan—"
But something catches my eye.
My phone.
Still sitting where I tossed it.
Screen glowing.
1 Missed Call.
Then another notification pops up.
2 Missed Calls.
Then another.
5 Missed Calls.
I pick it up, water dripping from my fingers onto the screen.
The number climbs as I stare.
8 Missed Calls.
All from Dad.
All in the last fifteen minutes.
Charlie notices the shift in my expression. His smile fades. "What is it?"
I don't answer.
Because my dad *never* calls twice.
Not in one night.
Not ever.
And definitely not eight times.
Ella wraps the towel around my shoulders, her voice gentle. "Ethan... what's wrong?"
I swallow hard, staring at the screen.
The party noise behind me—the laughter, the music, the clinking glasses....it all fades into static.
Lanterns creak in the wind.
My heartbeat thunders in my ears.
"I don't know," I whisper.
But I feel it.
Deep in my gut, cold and heavy and certain.
Whatever's waiting for me tomorrow—
It isn't just big.
It's going to change everything.