Chapter 2

Three days in, and I still jumped every time I heard Dylan's footsteps. Even surrounded by all this luxury that belonged in a magazine, I felt like I was walking on eggshells.

That afternoon, I was sprawled on the living room couch with my textbooks when Dylan plopped down next to me.

"You've been glued to those books all day," he said, stretching his arms above his head so his tank top rode up. "Want to check out the gym downstairs? You look like you could use a break."

I glanced up at him. His workout clothes left nothing to the imagination, and I could feel my cheeks getting warm. Part of me wanted to say no automatically, but Ryan's voice echoed in my head—maybe try being nicer.

"Sure," I closed my psychology textbook. "But I don't have any gym clothes with me."

"No worries, they keep extras downstairs in all sizes." Dylan's grin was infectious. "Come on, I'll give you the grand tour."

The basement gym looked like something out of a luxury hotel. Dylan grabbed me a set of workout clothes and pointed toward the women's changing room. When I came out in the fitted athletic wear, he was already doing warm-up stretches.

"Let's start easy," Dylan headed toward the weight area. "I'll show you some basic moves."

I positioned myself on the bench press and reached for the bar. Before I knew it, Dylan was leaning over me, his hands positioned right above my chest.

"Here, let me spot you," his voice was low, his face way too close to mine. "Don't want you getting hurt."

I could smell his cologne mixed with sweat, feel the heat coming off his body. My skin crawled, and I sat up abruptly, nearly headbutting him.

"I'm good, thanks!" It came out harsher than I meant it to. "I can handle it myself."

Dylan backed off, hands raised like I'd pulled a gun on him. "Just looking out for you, princess. No need to get all worked up."

That word—princess—made my stomach turn. Ryan called me babe, baby, sometimes Em when he was being sweet. But princess? That felt like something else entirely.

I cut the workout short and bolted for the elevator. Dylan followed, and I could feel his eyes on me the whole ride up.

Later that night, I was planning to hide in my room with Netflix, but Dylan had already set up camp in the living room with popcorn and beer.

"Movie night," he announced, patting the couch cushion next to him. "Come keep me company."

I hesitated, then sat down—but on the opposite end of the couch. Dylan hit play on the remote, and the opening credits started rolling.

Ten minutes in, I realized what kind of movie this was. The couple on screen started tearing each other's clothes off, and suddenly the living room felt way too small and way too hot.

"Um, Dylan?" My face was on fire. "Maybe we could watch something else?"

"What's wrong with this?" Dylan scooted closer, closing the gap between us. "It's just a movie. Pretty steamy though, right?"

I felt trapped. He'd picked this on purpose—I was sure of it.

"I'm tired. I'm gonna head to bed." I started to get up, but Dylan's hand shot out and grabbed my wrist.

"Don't be such a prude," his fingers tightened around my arm. "It's not like we're watching porn or anything."

"Let go." I yanked my arm away and practically sprinted to my room.

I pressed my back against the door, heart hammering. Dylan was getting bolder, and I felt completely alone. I grabbed my phone and called Ryan.

"Ryan, something's really wrong here," my voice was shaking. "Dylan today, he—"

"Emma." Ryan's voice was flat, annoyed. "Can you please stop bitching about Dylan? He told me you've been giving him the cold shoulder."

My blood went cold. "He's been talking to you about me?"

"We're best friends. Of course we talk." Ryan sounded even more irritated. "Maybe try being grateful for once? Do you know how many people would kill to live where you're living?"

After I hung up, I sat on my bed feeling completely hollow. Even Ryan was taking Dylan's side now. I had no one.

Around 2 AM, voices from the living room woke me up. I crept to my door and peered through the crack. Dylan was alone on the couch, beer bottle in hand, talking to someone on the phone.

I held my breath and strained to listen.

"...running out of time," Dylan's words were slurred. "The guys are getting impatient..."

My heart stopped. What guys?

Dylan kept talking, his voice getting louder. "Ryan better not pussy out of this deal... the money's too good..."

Deal? Money? My mind started racing with horrible possibilities. What kind of deal? And what did it have to do with me?

I crept back to bed, but Dylan's words kept playing on repeat in my head. I didn't sleep for the rest of the night.

The next morning, I made a decision. I had to see Ryan face-to-face and get some real answers.

When I told Dylan over coffee that I was driving up to Stanford to surprise Ryan, his reaction told me everything I needed to know.

"What? Why?" Dylan nearly choked on his coffee, his face going white. "Is everything okay with you guys?"

I watched his face carefully. That wasn't the reaction of a friend who was just concerned.

"I miss my boyfriend," I kept my voice light and casual. "That a problem?"

"No, of course not," Dylan tried to recover, but I could see the panic in his eyes. "Have fun."

As I walked away, I could feel him watching me. My gut told me he was already making plans.

I had to figure out what this "deal" was before it was too late.

What had Ryan and Dylan agreed to? And was I just some kind of bargaining chip in whatever sick game they were playing?

My hands shook as I packed my overnight bag. This beautiful apartment that I'd been so grateful for was starting to feel like an elaborate trap.

And I was pretty sure I'd been the target all along.