TEN HOURS BEFORE THE PARTY

It was only ten in the morning when I finally emerged from my room, wrapping up a long phone call with my mom. The aroma of pasta already lingered in the air, making my stomach rumble in anticipation.

"Dad, what's going on?"

"Simon suggested I take the day off." He glanced at me briefly, a soft smile tugging at his lips before returning his focus to the vegetables on the wooden cutting board.

I furrowed my brows, confused. "What? Are you not feeling well?" 
As far as I knew, my dad didn't take days off, especially not to chop broccoli in the kitchen.

"My dear, can't a father take a day off just to spend it with his daughter?"

"Not typically you." I leaned against the kitchen island with a playful shrug.

"Hey, remember you're grounded?" he pointed out, pulling on a pair of black oven mitts. "I didn't want you to feel lonely while your friends are out doing whatever teenagers do these days." He added, opening the oven to reveal two perfectly seared steaks resting in a grill pan.

"It's called a party, Dad." I corrected, crossing my arms on the countertop.

"And it's completely unreasonable," he replied, his face adopting a serious expression.

"It's fun," I said with a smile, hoping to win him over.

"Fun can be risky." His retort came quick, his tone unwavering.

I shook my head, eyebrows raised in disbelief. "Since when did fun become risky?"

"It always starts with euphoria," he mused, "and ends with, 'how I wish...'" His voice carried an air of finality, like it was some universal truth.

I smirked. "I doubt that."

"You'll thank me one day, when you're older." He towered over me and placed a soft kiss on my forehead. "Now go pick a movie for us. I'm almost done with the cooking."

"Isn't it a bit early for lunch? It's still morning," I remarked.

"We can always order takeout later if you get hungry," he teased, nudging my shoulder, coaxing a giggle from me.

"Dad, what about the new bakery downtown?" I suggested eagerly.

He scrunched his face as if in deep thought. "Maybe..."

"Dad," I whined, dragging out the word.

"Alright, alright, the new bakery downtown," he relented.

"That's why I love you!" I squealed, my happiness bubbling over.

"For food, huh? Really, Cheryl?"

Already blushing, I corrected myself. "No, I love you for everything."

"You'd better, because I love you for everything," he said, his wide smile making me feel safe and cherished

PRESENT DAY

I squeezed my eyes shut and rubbed them with the back of my hand, but all I could see was darkness. For a split second, I thought I'd gone blind, confusion settling in since I felt no pain in my eyes.

The atmosphere around me was nothing like a party scene. Apart from the loud, steady thud of my heart pounding in my chest and my labored breathing, everything else was unnervingly silent.

I was trembling, shivering like an old woman lost in the woods in the dead of winter. My lips quivered as fear took over every inch of me. I knew I was far from my best friend and school, far from my father and home. And when the memory finally clicked into place, I knew I had been kidnapped.

I'd been awake for what felt like hours, and still, nothing had changed. I was alone, terrified, and yet nothing had happened. No visitors, no sounds, no proof that I was still alive. That's when it hit me, I must be dead. The figure from the bathroom either killed me or took my soul. Either way, I was done for.

Just as I was about to give in to that terrifying thought, something creaked. Slowly, a gleam of light reflected off something in the distance. I could make out a flat-screen TV, a tall lamp, and an armchair. Under different circumstances, I might've admired the decor. But everything in me froze when I saw a shadow approaching.

Panicked, I scrambled to get on my feet, but my legs refused to move. All I could do was crawl. My breathing became rapid, shaky, as terror coursed through me. What did I do? What have I done? Why was I here? My mind spiraled as I dragged myself along the floor.

Before I could reach the wall, two strong hands clamped around my arms, yanking me backward with brutal force.

I couldn't speak; it was as though I'd forgotten how. The fear running through me left a stream of tears falling down my face, and with every second, breathing became harder.

I tried to escape again, lunging toward the open door, but this time, they grabbed me by the hair, and the force made me scream. I thought my scalp might tear from the pain.

A sharp, piercing cry escaped me, the pain unbearable. The grip on my arms tightened. "Don't be a bitch. You're supposed to be easy."

The voice was deep, husky, laced with fury. Though I still couldn't speak, I wept silently, trembling from head to toe, not knowing what was coming next.

The door opened wider, and three figures stepped into the room. This time, the lights flickered on, flooding the space.

The luxurious surroundings were the least of my concerns. I could barely stand. My attention was fixed on the three men standing in front of the large TV.

Two of them were burly, middle-aged men, their jaws dusted with stubble, dressed in black suits with wires trailing from their earpieces. They looked like fighters, the kind who wouldn't hesitate to throw a punch.

But the third man was different. He stood in the middle, clearly in charge. He was younger, probably around my age, with disheveled golden hair and cold, wooden-brown eyes. His face, sharp and hardened, didn't match his age. He looked at me with a terrifying intensity, and all I wanted to do was run.

I thought I'd been scared before, but seeing him sent my fear into overdrive. I knew, without a doubt, that whatever they had planned for me, it wasn't good.

A swirl of emotions hit me, regret, dread, guilt. But all I could do was plead. I couldn't speak, so I begged with my tear-filled eyes, hoping for mercy.

The room was deathly quiet, and all eyes were on me. I was certain they could hear the erratic rhythm of my heart, feel my struggle for breath. I kept trembling in the iron grip of the man behind me.

"I told you not to touch her, didn't I?" the young man in the middle said, his deep, raspy voice sending shivers down my spine. I shook uncontrollably, a silent sob escaping me.

"She tried to run, sir," the older man behind me said, finally releasing his painful hold on my arms. I was sure he'd left bruises.

The young man's eyes trailed over me, inspecting every inch, before he spoke in a slow, deliberate tone. "You disobeyed me. You broke the number one rule."

"I'm sorry, sir," the older man replied, his voice laced with fear. I wondered what could possibly scare him.

The young man took a deep, angry breath, his gaze never leaving me as I silently begged him for mercy.

But mercy didn't come. Instead, he pulled something from behind his back. I didn't realize what it was until the deafening gunshot echoed in the room.

He shot me. He actually shot me.

One... two... three seconds passed and then I rebooted. I stared at the red liquid splattering across my body. My hands instinctively went to my stomach, the pain unbearable, like something was tearing me apart from the inside. But when I looked down, my palms were clean. No blood, just sweat. Did he shot me elsewhere? My head? Heart?

I hadn't even finished piecing it together when I saw the pool of blood seeping toward me, like magnet attracting steel.With a slight spun around, daring myself to figure the source of the substance, my eyes confirmed to my senses.

A man lay dead beside me. The man who had been breathing against my skin moments ago, who had just spoken seconds earlier.

Breathing became impossible. My heart felt like it might explode, my vision was red, my stomach hurts. I felt sick. Everything blurred, the room shrinking as darkness crept in.

And then, I passed out.

A/N: Ongoing proofreading.