The bass from Chloe's carefully curated playlist thrums through my chest as I stand at the edge of the pool deck, watching my friends dance under the string lights.
The Murphy estate has transformed into something magical—fairy lights reflecting off the water, candles flickering on every surface, the warm evening air thick with laughter and perfume.
I paste on my birthday girl smile when Sarah stumbles over, already tipsy and glowing.
"Twenty-one! Oh my God, how does it feel to be legal?" she squeals, throwing her arms around me in a champagne-scented hug.
"Like twenty but with alcohol," I laugh, genuinely this time.
Sarah's enthusiasm is infectious, even when my mood is somewhere in the gutter.
"This party is amazing! The Murphys really went all out. And oh my God, the catering? I've had like six of those little salmon things." She spins around, nearly tripping over her own feet. "Where's Tyler?"
The fake smile feels like it's gluing itself to my face. "Work emergency. He'll be here soon."
"Ugh, work on a Friday night? That sucks. But at least you get to party without him breathing down your neck, right?"
Sarah winks and bounces away toward the pool, already distracted by someone doing a backflip off the diving board.
I watch her go, envying her ability to find joy in salmon appetizers and strangers' pool tricks.
I need air, space, maybe some of those fancy crackers. The kitchen should be quieter—I can regroup there, figure out what I want to say to Tyler when he finally decides to grace us with his presence.
The Murphy kitchen is a study in expensive minimalism and also blessedly empty.
I lean against the central island, letting the cool marble seep through my dress, and pull out my phone again.
Maybe I should just call him.
Demand an actual explanation instead of these bullshit texts about traffic.
But first, I should probably grab more champagne flutes from the high cabinet. Chloe mentioned earlier that we were running low, and doing something useful might stop my hands from shaking with barely contained frustration.
I drag over one of the kitchen chairs and climb up carefully. My dress is shorter than I'd normally choose, the blue silk riding up my thighs as I stretch toward the top shelf where the good crystal lives.
"Come on," I mutter, fingertips barely grazing the stem of one glass. "Just a little—"
"Careful there."
The voice I know too well comes from directly behind me, deep and warm and entirely too close. I startle and feel the chair wobble beneath me as I'm about to fall backward, a sharp gasp escaping as gravity takes over.
Then Tobias's hands are on me.
One grips my waist, while the other—oh, sweet Jesus—accidentally cups my breast as he steadies me against his chest. His palm fits against me perfectly through the thin silk, and every nerve ending I possess lights up like the Fourth of July.
Time stopped and neither of us dared to move.
My back molded against his solid frame, every inch of him pressed against me. His hand was warm, almost hot through the thin fabric of my dress, and I could feel my body responding instantly—nipples hardening, heat pooling low in my belly.
His breath hitched audibly, fanning across my neck, and when his thumb moved slightly, just a fraction, against the side of my breast, I couldn't suppress the small sound that escaped me.
"Ava." My name came out rough, almost pained.
"Tobias…" I breathed, and watched his jaw clench at the sound of his name.
"We should…" he started, but Chloe's voice carried from the hallway, getting closer.
"Dad, have you seen the bottle opener?"
We exploded apart and Tobias stepped back so quickly he hit the counter, his breathing ragged. I gripped the edge of the table, legs shaking, my entire body on fire from his touch.
"I'll get those glasses," he said, voice rough like gravel. "You should... the party..."
"Right." I could barely speak. "The party."
I fled the kitchen on unsteady legs, my skin still burning everywhere he'd touched me, the wetness between my thighs making me squeeze them together as I walked.
Behind me, I heard him curse softly, followed by the sound of running water like he was splashing his face. But I'm already practically running back toward the pool where the music and laughter can drown out the sound of my hammering heart.
What the hell just happened?
I grab another glass of champagne and try to pretend my world hasn't just shifted on its axis. Sarah waves at me from the pool, and I wave back, hoping I look more normal than I feel.
The alcohol makes everything feel liquid and dangerous, and I'm hyperaware of Tobias moving through the crowd. Every time he passes near me, my body reacts—skin flushing, breath catching.
When he hands someone a drink, I remember how those fingers felt against me. When he laughs at someone's joke, I think about the desperate sound he made in the kitchen.
He's trying to avoid me, I can tell, but our eyes keep finding each other across the crowd, and each time they do, heat flares between us like a live wire.
"You're doing it again," Chloe says, appearing at my elbow.
"Doing what?" I take a large sip of champagne, trying to cool the fire in my veins.
"Staring at my dad."
"I'm not. I was just… He's being really nice, hosting all this." The words tumble out too fast.
"That's Dad. He loves you and treats you as a part of our family." Chloe links her arm through mine. "Though honestly, sometimes I think he likes you better than me."
Family. The word makes me want to laugh hysterically.
Family members don't touch each other the way he touched me. They don't look at each other with barely controlled hunger across a crowded pool deck.
"Are you okay?" Chloe peers at my flushed face. "You look... I don't know, feverish."
"Just the champagne," I lie.
My phone buzzes. Finally, it’s Tyler again.
Tyler: Running later than expected. Start the cake without me? Love you, babe.
Across the pool deck, Tobias is chatting with Jordan from his campaign team, but his eyes find mine. He raises his glass slightly, a small, private gesture meant just for me, and mouths "happy birthday."
The smile that accompanies it isn't his public smile—it's something softer, more intimate. My heart stumbles in my chest and I look away too quickly, nearly spilling my champagne making Chloe laugh.
"Okay, you're officially cut off. Come on, let's dance."
She drags me toward the makeshift dance floor, and I let the music wash over me, trying to drown out thoughts of Tobias's hands on my body, the way he looked at me in the kitchen, the way he's looking at me now when he thinks no one's watching.
That's when Sarah appears, phone clutched in her hand, face twisted with uncomfortable excitement.
"Ava, sweetie, I need to show you something." Her voice cuts through the music and laughter. "I'm so fucking sorry, but you need to see this before someone else tells you."
The screen shows Instagram, perhaps a story posted by someone from Tyler's office twenty minutes ago. There he is, clear as fucking day, at some dive bar in Riverside. The timestamp reads an hour ago.
And he's not alone.
Megan Fischer is pressed against his side, his arm possessive around her waist, her glossy lips attached to his neck like she owns him. Like she has every right to be there.
"Swipe," Sarah whispers, her face full of pity.
I do. The next story is from Megan herself—Tyler taking a shot off her flat stomach while she arches beneath him like some porn star before kissing her dirty. The caption reads "work emergency" with a string of fire emojis.
"There's more," Sarah says quietly. "Everyone's posted. The whole office saw. I'm so sorry, Ava…"
My hand starts to shake.
Three years. Three years of making excuses, of understanding, of being the supportive girlfriend while he…
"Ava?" Chloe appears, taking in my face. "What's happening?"
Sarah shows her the phone and Chloe's expression transforms from confusion to pure rage.
"That fucking piece of shit! I'm going to kill him! I'm going to cut off his pathetic dick and feed it to him!"
The champagne glass slips from my numb fingers and hits the deck, exploding into glittering fragments. The crash cuts through the music and several people turn to stare.
The party seems to pause. Everyone looking at me standing there in my pretty blue dress, surrounded by broken glass, my carefully constructed world shattering just as spectacularly.
"I..." My voice cracks. "I need a minute."
But there's nowhere to run at my own birthday party, nowhere to hide from the pity already filling my friends' faces as they check their phones and see what everyone apparently knew before me.
Tyler chose tonight, my twenty-first birthday, to publicly humiliate me.