Chapter 1

POV: Connor Macleod There are two kinds of mistakes you can make at a Northpoint party. The ones you regret the next morning… and the ones that ruin your life in the best possible way.“I should have stayed home that night. If I had, I wouldn’t have walked into that crowded Northpoint party. And I definitely wouldn’t have met the only person who made my blood boil .”The music is too loud. The air smells like sweat and cheap cologne. The floor is sticky from spilled beer, and the whole place feels like it’s shaking from the bass.Something always happens at these parties. I’ve been to too many of them over the past few years. At this point they all blend together—flashing lights, loud music, people dancing in dark corners, the smell of beer and vodka energy drinks.Random faces, loud laughter. Hookups I barely remember.Usually I just move through the night on autopilot, smiling at the right people and saying the right things.But not tonight.Tonight my attention is locked on one p

Chapter 2

Maxime Pov The Northpoint house party is a beast all its own—a living, sweating, pulsing animal with bad intentions and zero chill. Every breath I take is thick with cheap beer, tequila fumes, and too many different brands of overpriced cologne. It’s sensory overload—the walls vibrate with bass so heavy it shakes my insides, lights flicker strobe patterns over faces I mostly recognize and wish I didn’t. Navigating this place is war; shoulders bump mine, someone spills a drink down my arm, and my boots stick to floors that haven’t seen a mop since move-in day. The whole place of alcohol. I spot Simone before she sees me—of course she's claimed the best seat in the house. She’s perched on a barstool in the kitchen, legs crossed with all the careless confidence of a girl who’s never had to beg for attention in her life. Her dark hair falls glossy over her face, and she's holding court with a pack of drooling sophomore boys who can’t tell if they want to worship her or get out of her

Chapter 3

POV: ConnorHangovers at Northpoint aren’t just a consequence—they’re biblical. It’s the kind of punishment that makes you want to call your mother and apologize for everything you’ve ever done, even the stuff you haven’t gotten caught for.My mouth tastes like stale beer and regret. My head feels like a hockey team used it as a shooting target. Light stabs me right in the eyes, a personal vendetta from the sun itself, and my phone is buzzing with more notifications than a Vegas slot machine on a hot streak.I’m not dead, but my dignity probably is.I groan, roll over, and swipe at my phone like it personally offended me. My lock screen is a graveyard of team group chat memes, DMs from people whose names I can’t remember, and one from my mother reminding me to hydrate.I briefly consider dying in bed just to avoid the pain of verticality, but the ache in my stomach and my bladder make that impossible.The night before comes back in flashes—bass vibrating up through the floor, beer slo

Chapter 4

Maxime ; The worst thing about closing at “Meeting Point” isn’t even the hours or the drunk idiots—it’s how the night sticks to you afterward. By the time I drag myself up the stairs to my apartment, I smell like beer foam, bleach, and somebody’s awful cologne, and my feet are threatening legal action. I should be exhausted enough to pass out instantly. Instead, I’m wide awake. Connor McLeod. God. I can still feel his hands on my waist, the scrape of his teeth against my neck, the way he looked at me like he already knew I was screwed. I pause outside the apartment door and force my expression back to neutral. If I walk in smiling like an idiot, Simone’s gonna interrogate me like a detective with a warrant. The second I step inside, the familiar smell of microwave popcorn and lavender spray hits me. Simone’s sprawled across my bed scrolling through TikTok while Troy’s at the desk, half-buried in anatomy notes with one earbud hanging out. Simone glances up. “Oh wow. The dead ri

Chapter 5

Maxime;My phone starts buzzing on the nightstand hard enough to rattle the glass of water beside it, and the sound drills straight into my skull.I barely register the warm weight sprawled across my stomach—Simone starfished across my bed like she pays rent here—the morning light cutting through the blinds, or the smell of coffee drifting through the apartment.The buzzing keeps going. Persistent. Annoyingly confident.Across the room, Troy’s already awake because apparently he was born forty years old. He’s sitting at the desk in sweatpants with his laptop open, coffee in hand, hair still damp from a shower.I genuinely don’t trust people who function this early.Simone groans into my side without opening her eyes. “If Connor McLeod is blowing up your phone before noon, you better answer it. I deserve entertainment.”I reach blindly for my phone, nearly knocking it onto the floor before catching it at the last second.New Snap from Connor McLeod.Just seeing his name sends a stupid

Chapter 6

All day, my phone might as well have been a live grenade in my pocket. Every time I felt it vibrate—or even thought about Connor’s last message—I got hit with another wave of adrenaline.I can come to your dorm. Or you can come to mine.Technically, I still haven’t replied.Realistically? I’ve reread those texts so many times I could probably recite the exact punctuation from memory.For the past eight hours, Simone’s been calling me a coward in increasingly creative ways.Troy’s been calling me “reasonable,” but the look on his face says he fully expects me to make a terrible decision anyway.And me?I’ve mostly been trying—and failing—not to imagine what’s actually going to happen when Connor McLeod shows up at my door.By the time the three of us make it back to the apartment that evening, my nerves are completely shot. I toss my bag onto the floor and collapse in front of my laptop, desperate for literally any distraction.Unfortunately, my unfinished article for the campus paper