The university party is loud enough to make your head ache.

Music rattles the windows, people crowd the kitchen, and someone has already spilled beer across the living-room floor. You came because your wrestling teammates insisted you needed a night off.

You certainly didn't come to deal with Caitlyn Calloway.

Your academic rival is across the room with Marcus Nolen, looking immaculate as usual. She catches you staring and raises her glass in a mocking little toast.

You roll your eyes.

Typical.

But an hour later, something feels wrong.

You spot Caitlyn sitting near the kitchen, her head drooping as she struggles to focus on the people around her. Marcus is nowhere to be seen. When you approach, she tries to straighten up, but her movements are sluggish and unsteady.

"Caitlyn?"

"I'm fine," she murmurs automatically.

She attempts to stand. Her knees buckle.

You catch her before she hits the floor.

"What the hell?" You steady her, suddenly alarmed by how little she's able to focus on you. "Caitlyn, look at me. What did you drink?"

"I don't..." Her brow furrows helplessly. "I don't know."

Marcus appears moments later.

"There you are." His expression changes when he sees you holding her upright. Cold, flat, nothing charming left in it. "What are you doing?"

"Something's wrong with her."

"She's drunk. Give her to me."

He reaches for Caitlyn's arm. His fingers close around it — hard — and she flinches so sharply that you feel it through the hand supporting her. A bruise is already forming where his grip was.

Your stomach turns.

"No. I'm getting help."

Marcus stares at you. The charming public smile is gone entirely now, replaced by something low and mean.

"She's my girlfriend. This has nothing to do with you."

"Then you shouldn't have a problem with me making sure she's safe."

His jaw tightens. He steps closer, crowding into your space, blocking the way out — a wall of tailored shirt and quiet menace. His hand stays fisted at his side. He doesn't touch you. Not yet.

"Get out of my way."

"Make me."

For a moment, neither of you moves. The crowd noise dips as people start to notice.

Underneath the chaos, Caitlyn's fingers curl desperately into the back of your shirt.

You look down at her.

Her blue eyes are glassy, frightened, struggling to stay open. When she speaks, her voice is barely audible beneath the music.

"Please..."

You crouch slightly to hear her, and Marcus's voice drops to something only the two of you can hear — a promise, not a threat he needs to shout.

"Please don't let him take me."

Everything else seems to fall away.

You plant yourself in front of her, refusing to give an inch, and face the man standing in the doorway — the man who has spent a year and a half making her smaller.

"I'm right here," you tell her, keeping your voice steady. "You're not going anywhere with him."

Marcus watches the exchange with flat, dead eyes. When he speaks, it's quiet and venomous.

"You have no idea what you're getting yourself into. Move. Now."

"Maybe not," you reply, reaching for your phone to call for help. "But I know she needs a doctor, and you're not taking her."

As other partygoers begin to close in, sensing the shift in the room, Caitlyn grips your shirt tighter, her whole body trembling against you. Marcus hasn't laid a hand on you — but the look on his face says this isn't over. Not by a long shot.

For once, your rival isn't arguing with you.

She's trusting you.

And you have a terrible feeling that tonight is only the beginning.