Blinded

Chapter 3

Kayla POV

I hadn't planned on going out. I really didn't. But LA had a way of dragging you into things. The minute Liyah sent the flyer—some mansion party in the Hills, DJs from Miami, "influencers only" energy—I felt that little tug of curiosity creep in.

By eight, I'd finished my last online school assignment and shut my cream-colored MacBook, giving myself a mental break from the world of due dates and discussions. My curls were still defined from my morning routine, slicked half-up with glossy baby hairs curved like commas. I topped off my look with a neutral gloss, white chrome nails sharp and shiny, and a tight mocha mini-dress that made me look soft, but far from approachable.

My mom had left the black Tesla parked out front, still smelling like her vanilla perfume. She was in Italy for the week, something about a franchise launch. I didn't ask questions. She was always flying somewhere—New York, Miami, Santo Domingo—running her brand like a ghost, never still, never home. I'd gotten used to her absence by now.

As I drove up the winding Hills road, the city below glittered like a necklace. I could already hear the party from half a block away—bass thumping like a heartbeat, voices spilling into the night.

By the time I pulled up, the driveway was packed with matte-wrapped sports cars, black SUVs, and way too many ring light reflections bouncing off tinted windows.

I stepped out slowly, heels clicking against stone, taking in the scene: giant double doors wide open, soft purple lights flooding the foyer, bodies swaying to bass-heavy music, and laughter trailing through the air like perfume.

Inside, the house was every shade of luxury—glass walls, floating staircases, LED-lit shelves lined with bottles. I was adjusting the strap on my purse when a familiar voice cut through the music.

"There she go."

I turned to see Liyah waving me over from across the room, a red Solo cup in her hand. She was in a sleek two-piece—black velvet with a diamond belt, braids high in a ponytail, hoops glinting.

"You made it!" she said, pulling me in for a quick hug.

"I wasn't sure I would," I laughed. "But... here I am."

"And you look too damn good," she said, giving me a once-over. "All these boys are gonna forget who they came with."

I rolled my eyes, but smiled anyway. "You hype me too much."

"Girl, please. You could walk in barefoot and still have dudes stuttering."

We made our way through the crowd, passing clusters of guys trying too hard to look unbothered and girls side-eyeing anyone prettier than them. Typical LA. I noticed eyes on me already—some subtle, some not—but I was used to that. Pretty privilege wasn't always a flex. Sometimes it felt like a target.

I grabbed a bottle of water from the counter and sipped, catching my reflection in the bar mirror—highlight catching the lights just right, green-hazel eyes sharp.

"Is that him?" Liyah asked suddenly, nodding toward the back patio.

I followed her gaze—and there he was.

Andre.

Leaning against the glass doorframe, white tee crisp, black cargos sagging just enough to show off designer waistband, gold chain shining. He was talking to some guy but still looking around like the room belonged to him. When his eyes landed on me, he smirked.

I exhaled. "Yup. That's him."

"He's fine," Liyah whispered. "But he got secrets. I can feel it."

"I've been feeling that too."