Chapter 2

Brody, sensing Chloe' s escalating fury and the crowd' s growing unease, stepped in again. He was a master of redirecting drama, a skill honed on reality television.

"Hey, you know what?" he said with a wide, artificial smile. "The party' s just getting started! Chloe was just telling me about this amazing studio you have, Ethan. In that big house of yours. Why don' t we all head over there and see where the magic happens?"

His words were a spark in a tinderbox. The crowd, bored with the tension and eager for a new venue, lit up.

"Yeah, let' s go to Ethan' s!" someone shouted.

"I wanna see that recording setup!" another added.

Chloe' s vanity surged, overriding her anger. The idea of showing off "her" territory, of demonstrating her power over Ethan by invading his home, was too tempting to resist.

She tossed her hair back, a triumphant smirk replacing her scowl. "Of course! Everyone' s welcome. It' s practically my second home anyway."

Ethan' s blood ran cold. "No," he said, his voice sharp and hard. "My house is not your second home, Chloe. And it' s not a party venue. Everyone needs to leave."

Chloe' s face contorted with rage. "Don' t you dare talk to me like that."

Before he could react, she shoved him hard in the chest. He stumbled back, caught off guard by her sudden violence.

"I' ll go where I want," she snarled, her voice low and dangerous. "Your parents gave me a key years ago, remember? What' s yours is mine. They always said so."

It was true. His parents, in their kindness, had always treated her like a daughter. They had indulged her, coddled her, completely blind to the rot of her entitlement. They had taught her that she could have anything she wanted, especially from Ethan. And she had learned the lesson well. She believed it.

Ethan scrambled out of the party and rushed home, a sick feeling churning in his stomach. He fumbled with his keys, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.

The scene was worse than he had imagined.

His quiet, orderly sanctuary was a disaster zone. Muddy footprints stained the light-colored rugs. Empty glasses and bottles littered every surface. A group of Chloe' s friends were laughing raucously in the living room, their feet propped up on his antique coffee table.

But the worst of it was in his studio.

The door was wide open. Inside, a guy he' d never seen before was carelessly strumming Ethan' s prized vintage Martin guitar, the one his grandfather had left him. Another girl was giggling as she scrolled through his private composition files on his computer, her greasy fingers smudging the screen.

Rage, pure and white-hot, flooded through Ethan. He pulled out his phone, his fingers shaking as he dialed 911.

"I' m calling the police," he announced, his voice trembling with fury.

Before he could press the call button, Brody was on him. He snatched the phone from Ethan' s hand with surprising speed.

"Whoa there, buddy," Brody said, holding the phone out of reach. "Let' s not overreact." With a flick of his wrist, he slammed the phone onto the hardwood floor. The screen spiderwebbed with cracks, then went dark.

Brody put on a wounded expression, turning to the others. "Wow," he said, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "I guess we' re not good enough to be in his fancy house. Look at him, Chloe. He thinks he' s so much better than us just because his parents have money."

It was a masterful piece of manipulation. He had reframed Ethan' s righteous anger as elitist snobbery.

The mood in the room shifted instantly. The drunken, laughing faces turned hostile.

"Yeah, what a snob."

"We' re not good enough for you, rich boy?"

The words hit their mark. Chloe, who had always been insecure about her background compared to Ethan' s, saw her chance to be the victim and the hero.

She stalked towards Ethan, her eyes blazing. "You think you' re better than me?"

She slapped him.

The sharp sting exploded across his cheek. His head snapped to the side from the force of the blow. He could feel the metallic taste of blood in his mouth where his teeth had cut the inside of his cheek.

He stared at her, stunned into silence.

Brody rushed to Chloe' s side, wrapping an arm around her as if to comfort her from the trauma of having assaulted someone. "It' s okay, baby," he cooed, while shooting a venomous glare at Ethan. "He' s just a spoiled brat. He doesn' t appreciate what real people go through."

His words were like gasoline on a fire.

"Yeah, screw this guy."

"Let' s teach him a lesson."

Two of Brody' s friends, big guys from a reality show about competitive eating or something equally stupid, grabbed Ethan' s arms, pinning him against the wall. He struggled, but they were too strong. He was trapped.

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