AT THE PARTY NEXTDOOR BY MELLA

Miami was supposed to be a fresh start. A place of palm trees, salt air, and the quiet focus I needed to finally build a life.

Instead, I was living inside the ribcage of a vibrating beast.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The bass from the penthouse next door wasn't just loud; it was invasive. It crawled up the legs of my bed and rattled my very teeth. I stared at the digital clock on my nightstand. 1:42 AM. My first day of classes at Miami Central University started in six hours, and I was losing a war against a subwoofer.

"Tyla, just put the pillow over your head," a muffled voice groaned from across the room.

My cousin, Skyler, was buried under a mountain of blankets. "It's Miami. People party. It's practically in the city charter."

"It's a Tuesday, Sky!" I snapped, shoving my hair out of my face. My reflection in the vanity mirror was a wreck wild curls and eyes bloodshot from exhaustion. I was wearing an oversized grey t-shirt that reached mid-thigh, a faded relic of a band I'd long forgotten. I looked like a girl on the verge of a breakdown.

"Don't go over there," Skyler warned, sensing my movement. "I saw the guys in 12B moving in. Expensive cars, dark suits the kind of security that looks like they've buried bodies."

"I don't care if they're the cartel," I muttered, sliding my feet into my fuzzy slippers. "I have a Bio-Chem lecture at eight, and I'm not failing because some trust-fund brat thinks he's a DJ."

Adrenaline is a liar. It made me feel taller than five-foot-four. It made me forget I was just a girl in a sleep-shirt walking into a lion's den.

I marched down the hallway. The air already smelled like the party expensive tobacco and a heavy, masculine cologne that seemed to coat the walls. I stopped in front of the matte-black double doors of 12B and hammered.

"Open up!" I yelled.

For a long moment, the music roared on. Then, the heavy door groaned open.

The air that hit me first was industrial-strength cold, thick with the scent of something intoxicating. Then, my eyes traveled upward.

The man standing in the doorway wasn't a "brat." He was a titan.

He was shirtless, his bronze skin glistening under the dim hallway lights as if he'd just come from a fever. A trail of dark hair disappeared into the waistband of low-slung silk joggers. His chest was a roadmap of hard muscle, but it was his face that stopped the air in my lungs. Sharp cheekbones, a jawline that could cut glass, and eyes the color of a stormy Atlantic, deep, turbulent grey.

He didn't speak. He just leaned against the doorframe, his gaze traveling slowly from my messy hair down to my bare legs.

The anger that had fueled me evaporated, replaced by a sudden, terrifying heat.

"The... the music," I managed to choke out. "It's nearly two in the morning."

He shifted, and for a second, I thought he was going to apologize. Instead, he took a step forward.

I instinctively backed up, but my heels hit the opposite wall of the hallway. Before I could blink, he slammed his hand against the plaster right next to my ear, trapping me.

The scent of him, sandalwood and expensive bourbon, swamped my senses. Up close, I could see the dampness of his hair. He didn't look annoyed. He looked... hungry.

"You're the first person to ever knock on my door without an invitation," he rumbled. His voice was a low baritone that vibrated right through my ribs.

"I'm your neighbor," I said, trying to regain my fire, though my heart was hammering against my chest. "And I have a right to sleep."

His eyes darkened to charcoal. He tilted his head, his nose almost brushing mine. "A neighbor," he repeated, his lips curving into a slow, dangerous smile. He didn't pull back. If anything, he leaned closer, his chest grazing the tips of my breasts through the thin fabric of my shirt. "I've lived here for three weeks, and I haven't seen anything worth looking at until this moment."

"Turn the music down," I whispered, my breath hitching.

He reached out, his fingers surprisingly gentle as he tucked a stray curl behind my ear. His touch felt like a live wire.

"I don't take orders, Little Neighbor," he murmured, his gaze dropping to my lips. "But I do take what I want. And right now..." He leaned down, his breath hot against my skin. "I think I'll keep you."

My heart stopped. The possessiveness in his tone wasn't a joke; it was a claim.

Panicked by the sudden, overwhelming urge to melt into him, I ducked under his arm. I didn't walk I bolted back to 12A. I fumbled with my keys, my hands shaking, and threw myself inside, slamming the door and throwing every deadbolt we had.

I leaned against the wood, gasping for air.

Outside, the music suddenly cut to a dead stop. The silence was more deafening than the bass had been.

I crept to the peephole. Daniel hadn't gone back inside. He was standing exactly where I'd left him, staring at my door. As if he could see right through the wood, he traced his fingers over the spot on the wall where my head had been.

I backed away, the silence of the night feeling like a physical weight on my chest. Miami was supposed to be a fresh start, but as I stared at the locked door, I realized the party next door wasn't over.

Daniel Thorne was just getting started, and he had already decided that I was the grand prize.

It's not that bad, Tyla. It has... character."

I slumped against the kitchen counter, clutching a mug of coffee like a lifeline. "Character" was a generous word for a two-bedroom apartment that currently smelled like industrial-strength floor cleaner and my own lingering anxiety.

The door to our unit swung open. It didn't just open; it was a staged entrance.

Summer walked in, trailed by two bellhops carrying luggage that cost more than my tuition. She looked like she had just stepped off a yacht in Saint-Tropez,blonde hair a silk curtain of perfection, and a white linen set that was suspiciously wrinkle-free.

She took one look at our living room and wrinkled her nose.

"Oh, sweetie," Summer sighed, dropping her designer handbag. She walked over and pinched my cheek, her manicured nails sharp. "The lobby was so promising, but this? It's a bit... cozy. I didn't realize we were going for the 'struggling student' aesthetic."

"It's a student apartment, Summer," Skyler grumbled from the floor, a hex key clamped between her teeth. "Not a Hilton."

Summer ignored her, spinning to inspect the view. "Well, I suppose it's fine for a few months. Though I'll definitely need to call my decorator. This lighting is doing terrible things to your skin, Tyla. You look like you haven't slept in a week."

"I haven't," I muttered. My mind flashed back to Daniel Thorne's dark, stormy eyes. "The neighbor threw a party that lasted until two."

Summer's eyes lit up. "A neighbor? Is he rich? I saw a Ferrari in the parking garage. If he's the one throwing the parties, we need to be on the guest list. A girl's first week in Miami is wasted if she isn't seen at the right tables."

I shivered, remembering Daniel's hand against the wall. "Trust me, you don't want to meet him. He's... a lot."

"Nonsense," Summer smirked, checking her reflection. "There's no such thing as 'too much' for me. Now, get dressed. We're going to brunch. You are not starting your first day of college looking like a laundry basket."

I swapped my oversized shirt for a simple black hoodie and denim shorts. I felt invisible next to her which was exactly how Summer liked it. I watched her adjust her gold jewelry, her movements practiced and cold. I knew Summer. She didn't just want to be the prettiest in the room; she wanted to be the only one allowed to shine.

Fine, I thought, a spark of defiance lighting in my chest. Let her be the target. If Daniel Thorne wants a 'prize,' let him chase the one who's actually asking for it.

The moment we stepped into the lobby, the air changed.

The elevators chimed, and there he was.

Daniel Thorne was dressed in a charcoal-grey tailored suit that screamed power. He was flanked by two men,one grinning at a phone, the other looking like a silent enforcer. Daniel was mid-conversation, his face a mask of cold indifference.

Until he saw me.

I felt Summer stiffen beside me. I watched her transformation in real-time,the way she arched her back and pouted. She stepped directly into Daniel's path, blocking him.

"Excuse me," she said, her voice dropping into a sultry, melodic purr. She flashed her most dazzling, high-society smile. "I think you're the neighbor Tyla was complaining about. I'm Summer. I just moved in, and I simply had to tell you,your car in the garage is absolutely exquisite. Perhaps you could show me around the city sometime?"

She stood there, radiating confidence, waiting for him to fall at her feet.

Daniel stopped. His eyes flicked to Summer for a fraction of a second,a cold, dismissive glance that treated her like a piece of furniture. Then, he looked past her.

His gaze locked onto mine, and the intensity felt like a physical weight.

Summer's smile faltered as Daniel stepped right past her. He didn't just ignore her; he erased her.

He walked straight to me. I was frozen as he invaded my personal space once again. He reached out, his large, warm hand settling on the hood of my sweatshirt. With agonizing slowness, he adjusted the fabric, smoothing it over my shoulders before his fingers grazed the skin of my neck.

"You look tired, Neighbor," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that ignored everyone else in the room. "Did I keep you up?"

"I... I'm fine," I stammered.

He leaned down, his lips inches from my ear. "Wear something better tonight," he whispered. "The party starts at ten. And don't bother knocking this time. The door will be open for you."

He straightened up, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw for a lingering second before he pulled away. He didn't give Summer a second look.

"Let's go," Daniel commanded his men, stepping toward the glass entrance.

"See you at the party tonight, Neighbor," he tossed over his shoulder.

The silence that followed was deafening. I was hyper-aware of the spot where Daniel's fingers had touched my skin. But more than that, I was aware of the person standing next to me.

I turned to look at Summer.

The "perfect" girl was standing as still as a statue. For a heartbeat, the mask slipped. The pretty, polished Summer disappeared, and in her place was something ugly and jagged. Her eyes were fixed on me, narrowed into slits, burning with a flash of pure, venomous hatred.

It was the look of a predator seeing someone else touch her prize.

I see you now, I thought, my heart sinking into a cold dread. I'd spent years trying to be the "safe" best friend, but Daniel Thorne had just painted a target on my back.

"Wow, Tyla," Summer said, her voice suddenly sweet as honey, though her eyes remained frozen. She wrapped her arm through mine, her grip just a little too tight, her nails digging into my skin.

"We definitely have to go to that party," she said, her smile widening into something that didn't reach her eyes. "After all, what are best friends for, if not to make sure you don't get in over your head?"

I looked at her, a chill settling in my stomach. I had moved to Miami to escape my past, but as Summer led me toward the door, I realized the most dangerous person in the city wasn't the man who wanted to keep me.

It was the girl who was currently holding my hand.

Stop squirming, Tyla. If you want to play with the big boys in Miami, you have to look the part."

Summer's voice was like silk, but her hands were like iron as she yanked the zipper up the back of my dress. I gasped as the fabric squeezed my ribs. I turned to the full-length mirror and barely recognized the girl staring back.

The dress was a mistake. It was a slip of crimson silk that looked more like lingerie than an outfit. The neckline plunged dangerously low, and the side slit reached nearly to my hip. It was "too much" in every sense of the word.

"Summer, I can't wear this," I protested, tugging at the hem. "I look like I'm trying too hard. I look... desperate."

"You look expensive," Summer corrected, stepping behind me. Her own dress was a conservative, high-necked white lace-virginal, pure, and calculated to make my red silk look scandalous by comparison. "Daniel Thorne told you to wear something better. If you show up in a hoodie, he'll think you're a child. This? This makes you a woman he can't ignore."

She caught my eye in the reflection, her smile appearing warm, but her gaze remained as sharp as a razor. "Besides, I'm right here with you. I won't let anything happen."

That's exactly what I'm afraid of, I thought.

I checked my phone. 10:15 PM. The bass was already thumping through the wall, a rhythmic heartbeat that seemed to pulse in time with my own anxiety. We didn't even have to leave the floor. We just walked twenty feet down the hallway.

The doors to 12B were wide open, guarded by two men who looked like they belonged in a private militia. The moment we stepped inside, the "student apartment" reality evaporated.

The penthouse was a cathedral of glass and chrome. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the glittering sprawl of Miami, and the air was thick with the scent of expensive cigars, top-shelf gin, and the kind of perfume that cost more than a month's rent. People were everywhere,models, athletes, and the sons of billionaires, all moving like they owned the air they breathed.

At the center of it all was Daniel.

He was standing by a black marble bar, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. He wasn't wearing a jacket anymore. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle. He looked like a king surveying a kingdom he found slightly boring.

Until his eyes found me.

The conversation around him seemed to die as his gaze traveled over the red silk. It wasn't the dismissive look he'd given Summer. It was heavy. It was hot. It was the look of a man who had just seen something he intended to break.

"Stay here," Summer whispered, her voice tight. "I'm going to grab us drinks."

She disappeared into the crowd before I could protest. I stood there, feeling exposed and vulnerable, until a shadow fell over me.

"You listened," Daniel rumbled.

He didn't stand near me; he loomed. He placed a hand on the small of my back, his palm was searing through the thin silk, and began to guide me away from the main floor.

"I thought you might be a rebel, Little Neighbor," he murmured, his voice cutting through the thumping music. "I thought I'd have to go over there and drag you out myself."

"I'm only here because of the noise," I lied, my voice trembling.

He led me behind a velvet curtain into a private VIP balcony. The noise of the party muffled instantly, replaced by the rush of the wind and the distant sound of the ocean. He didn't let go of my back. He pulled me toward the railing, then turned me around so I was trapped between the cold metal and his warm, solid chest.

"Liar," he said softly. He leaned in, his face inches from mine. "You've been thinking about me all day. Just like I've been watching you."

I blinked. "Watching me?"

He gestured toward the glass partition that separated our balconies. "My bedroom overlooks your terrace. I saw you this afternoon, Tyla. Sitting out there with your book, trying so hard to pretend I don't exist. I saw the way you kept glancing at my door."

My face burned. I hadn't realized how visible I was.

"You're a stalker," I breathed.

"I'm a man who knows what he wants," he corrected. He reached out, his thumb tracing the plunging neckline of the red dress, his touch barely grazing the swell of my breast. "And I want to know why you're wearing this dress. It's not you. It's a loud, screaming invitation."

"Summer picked it out," I whispered, my heart hammering so hard I was sure he could feel it through my ribs.

"Summer," he repeated the name like it was a bad taste in his mouth. "Your friend has a habit of putting you in the line of fire. But she made one mistake."

"What?"

"She thought I'd share." He leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear. "I don't share, Tyla. If you wear this for me, you stay with me."

The chemistry between us was a physical weight, a magnetic pull that made my knees weak. He looked at my lips, and for a second, the world narrowed down to just the two of us. He began to lean in, his hand sliding up my neck to cup my jaw, his thumb tilting my head back. I closed my eyes, waiting for the collision.

"Tyla! Oh my god, I've been looking everywhere for you!"

The velvet curtain swung open. I jumped back, my heart leaping into my throat.

Summer stood there, a glass of dark red Merlot in each hand. She was wearing a look of panicked concern that felt entirely too rehearsed.

"I thought you'd gotten lost!" she cried, stumbling forward.

It happened in slow motion. Summer "tripped" over the edge of the curtain, her arms flailing. The glass in her right hand tilted perfectly.

A wave of deep, dark red wine splashed across the front of my crimson dress. The cold liquid soaked through the silk instantly, staining the fabric and my skin, making me look like I'd been caught in a bloody accident.

The party guests near the curtain turned and gasped.

"Oh no!" Summer shrieked, dropping the other glass for dramatic effect. "Tyla, I'm so sorry! I'm such a klutz! Your beautiful dress is ruined!"

I stood there, shivering as the cold wine dripped down my legs. I looked at Summer. For a split second, through the fake tears and the apologies, she gave me a look of pure, triumphant satisfaction.

She hadn't just ruined the dress. She had turned my "powerful" moment into a public humiliation.

I looked at Daniel. His face was a mask of cold fury, his eyes darting between me and the "clumsy" girl standing between us.

I wanted to disappear, but as the crowd began to whisper, I realized Summer hadn't just spilled wine,she had just declared war.