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.
