The Last-Minute Rush
The conversation with my mother had finally drawn to a close, her words lingering in the air like the faint scent of her perfume. I exhaled, Sad and broken yet distracted, when suddenly—beep, beep, beep—the sharp, insistent sound of my alarm shattered the quiet. My eyes darted to the screen. 4:00 p.m.
Shit.
The party guests would be arriving soon, and I was nowhere near ready. Panic surged through me like an electric current. Without wasting another second, I bolted to my room, my footsteps echoing down the hallway. The bathroom door slammed behind me as I turned the shower knobs, the water roaring to life in a steaming cascade. I scrubbed myself raw, my mind racing faster than my hands.
The moment I stepped out, dripping and breathless, I snatched my suit from the wardrobe. The fabric felt crisp but wrinkled—unacceptable. I flung open my bedroom door and nearly collided with Alfred, my ever-composed butler, who stood waiting with his usual quiet efficiency.
"Alfred!" I thrust the suit at him. "Iron this. And hurry—I need it back now."
He gave a curt nod, his expression unreadable, and disappeared down the hall.
No time to dwell. I barked orders into my earpiece, summoning my bodyguards. They materialized within seconds, their towering frames filling the doorway. I handed them the guest list, my voice tight with urgency.
"Nobody gets in unless they're on this list. Nobody. Understood?"
Their synchronized nods did little to ease the tension coiling in my chest.
With that handled, I sprinted through the mansion like a man possessed—checking the banquet tables (loaded with gourmet dishes and glistening hors d'oeuvres), the bar (stocked with enough liquor to drown a small nation), and the sound system (thumping a bassline that vibrated in my bones). Everything was perfect. Thank God.
I raced back to my room, barely pausing to towel off before diving back into the shower. The water was scalding now, but I barely noticed—until a knock cut through the steam.
"Come in!" I called, my voice bouncing off the tiles.
The door creaked open, and Alfred's silhouette appeared through the fog. He laid my freshly pressed suit on the counter without a word, then vanished as silently as he'd come.
I shut off the water and stumbled out, my skin flushed and damp. The mirror was fogged, but I didn't need to see my reflection to know I looked frantic. I toweled off roughly, the fabric scraping against my skin, then attacked my room like a whirlwind—straightening the duvet, fluffing pillows, stashing stray clutter in drawers. Tonight, everything had to be flawless. Tonight, I wouldn't mess this up.
I yanked on my suit, my fingers fumbling with buttons and cufflinks. The fabric clung to my still-damp skin, making every movement feel stiff, unnatural. The more I rushed, the clumsier I became—a vicious cycle of haste and frustration. My pulse hammered in my throat, my breaths shallow.
A glance at the clock sent a fresh wave of dread through me. 6:30 p.m.
Time was slipping through my fingers.
I bolted downstairs, my polished shoes skidding on the marble steps. The living room was eerily quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos in my head. I wrenched open the fridge, the cold air blasting my face, and grabbed the first drink I saw—something crisp, carbonated, cold. The can hissed as I cracked it open, and I gulped it down like a dying man in a desert.
The sweetness burned my throat, but the chill seeped into my veins, dulling the edge of my panic. I slumped onto the nearest chair, my legs finally giving out. For the first time all day, I was still.
The silence pressed in. The adrenaline ebbed. My eyelids grew heavy.
Ten minutes. That's all I needed. Just ten minutes to breathe.
But exhaustion hit me like a freight train. The can slipped from my fingers, clattering to the floor.
And just like that—I was out.
The Party Awakening.
The music had already begun to swirl through the air, a pulsing rhythm that seeped into the walls of the room, but I was oblivious to it. The guests had arrived, their laughter and chatter weaving into the melody, yet none of it pierced the veil of my deep, peaceful sleep. I was lost in the quiet, adrift in dreams—until the touch came.
A hand, soft and deliberate, brushed against my cheek, fingers tracing my jawline with a tenderness that felt almost romantic. The sensation yanked me from slumber, and I jerked awake with a gasp, my heart hammering against my ribs. Disoriented, I blinked rapidly, my vision clearing to reveal Sarah standing over me, her lips curled into a smirk.
Sarah—another classmate, another guest at this party I'd thrown. She was more than just an invitee, though. Despite the money I'd spent on this gathering, Sarah's presence wasn't transactional. She genuinely loved me, or so she claimed. And physically? She was stunning. Her body was a masterpiece: curves in all the right places, full breasts that strained against her tight dress, hips that swayed with every step, and an ass that drew eyes wherever she went. Her face, framed by cascading hair, was equally arresting—high cheekbones, plush lips, eyes that sparkled with mischief.
But beauty was a mask. Beneath it, Sarah's personality was… complicated. She fucked. A lot. To say her primary ambition in school was to bed anything with a pulse wouldn't be an exaggeration. That reputation was why I'd always resisted her advances, no matter how aggressively she pursued me.
Now, here she was, her fingers lingering on my skin as she purred, "Hey, handsome. Time to wake up. The party's started."
My brain scrambled to catch up. "What? How long was I out?" I fumbled for my phone, the screen's glare cutting through the dim room. 9:00 p.m. Shit. Panic surged through me. I bolted upright, shoving Sarah aside in my haste.
I didn't make it far. A hand clamped around my wrist, nails digging in just enough to stop me. I whirled around—Sarah again, her grip unyielding. "David," she said, her voice dropping into a warning. "If you're looking for Favour, forget it. She's not here yet."
The name hit me like a slap. "What do you mean? She told me she was coming with you and Joshua! Where is she?"
Sarah didn't answer with words. Instead, she yanked me forward, crushing me against her. My face buried in the swell of her chest, the scent of her perfume—something sweet and overpowering—filling my nose. "David," she murmured, her voice muffled by my hair. "I know you love Favour. But I love you. And I don't want to see you hurt. So listen to me: let her go."
I pushed her away, my hands trembling. "Why the hell would I do that?"
She smiled then, slow and knowing, like she'd been waiting for this moment. "Because, David—you only know Favour at all because we go to the same school. Or went, I should say. We all got the message. You're not coming back. That's why you're throwing this party, isn't it? A goodbye."
The Warning.
I stared at Sarah, my gaze dripping with pity—or maybe it was disdain. She stood there, arms crossed, lips twisted into something between a smirk and a scowl. I couldn't help it; the words tumbled out before I could stop them.
"Are you stupid, Sarah?" I asked, my voice laced with exasperation. "Because obviously, it looks like you are. I've already sent my termination letter to the group, so why are you talking like someone who just figured out Bill Gates' secret?"
She flinched, just for a second, before her expression hardened. A sharp hiss escaped her lips, and she rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck. Then, with a dramatic flick of her hair, she spat out her words like venom.
"Don't say I didn't warn you, lover boy. Forget about her while you still can."
Before I could fire back, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the living room, disappearing into the chaos of the party outside. The door slammed behind her, leaving me alone with the echo of her warning.
My mind raced. What was she trying to say? Was this just another one of her pathetic attempts to make me lose interest in Favor so she could swoop in? Or was there something darker lurking beneath her words—something I wasn't seeing?
I shook my head. Later. I'd figure it out later. For now, the party was calling.
The Chaos Outside.
I adjusted my clothes, smoothing out the wrinkles in my shirt, and took a deep breath. Then, I pushed open the door and stepped outside.
Instantly, I was hit by a wave of energy so intense it nearly knocked me off my feet. The air was thick with music, laughter, and the kind of reckless abandon that only happens when rules don't exist. My eyes widened as I took in the scene.
Everyone was here.
The school bullies, their usual sneers replaced by drunken grins. The sex addicts, draped over each other in corners, their whispers too loud to be private. The drinkers, already slurring their words, bottles clutched in unsteady hands. The baddies, dressed—or half-undressed—in outfits that defied logic. The sports team, their competitive energy now channeled into downing shots. The dating groups, their usual drama amplified by liquid courage.
And so many more.
Some weren't even wearing clothes.
A flicker of guilt pricked at my conscience. Mom had warned me about this. "Don't let things get out of hand," she'd said. But she wasn't here now. And she'd never know—because I'd make sure every video, every photo, every trace of this night vanished before she got back.
I pushed the thought aside and let the energy of the party pull me in. I weaved through the crowd, nodding at friends, clapping shoulders, exchanging half-shouted greetings over the music.
Then, just as I was about to search for Favor, the roar of an engine cut through the noise.
A golden Lamborghini—golden, like something out of a rap video—rolled into the compound, its headlights slicing through the darkness. The doors swung open, and a guy stepped out, all swagger and expensive cologne.
And then, to my utter shock, Favour climbed out after him.
To be continued.