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Something slithers across my ankle.

My body freezes, breath caught in my lungs. Don’t move. Don’t even breathe.

The sensation retreats, and I exhale shakily into my pillow. Just my imagination. Halloween jitters. Nothing in my bed except—

There it is again. Not imagination. Something wet. Something with legs . Multiple legs, crawling deliberately up my calf now.

I launch upright with a strangled scream, heart hammering against my ribs as I fling the covers back. The bedside lamp casts long shadows across my sheets as I brace myself for eight hairy legs and gleaming fangs.

Instead, I’m met with innocent green eyes and the soft rumble of a purr.

My cat.

“Gregory?” I gasp, relief flooding through me until I notice what’s attached to my cat’s sides. “What the actual—CASSIDY!”

I scoop up my bewildered cat, his costume’s extra appendages dangling like limp tentacles, and storm into our shared living room where my roommate is already doubled over with laughter.

“You should see your face!” she wheezes between snorts, tears streaming down her cheeks.

I thrust Gregory under her nose. “What. The. Fuck.”

Greg squirms free from my grip and prances to his sunlit corner, fake spider legs trailing behind him like some unholy feline-arachnid abomination.

“Oh, lighten up, Rhea,” Cassidy wipes her eyes. “It’s Halloween!”

I groan, running a hand through my tangled hair. “I swear, you live for this stuff.”

“Gotta stay consistent, babe.” She winks and flips a strawberry blonde curl from her face. “Besides, I do this every year. It’s your fault for falling for it every time.”

I narrow my eyes.”You calling me gullible?”

Cassidy spins away before my fingers can even graze her, dancing across our small living room and into the kitchenette, giggles trailing behind her like breadcrumbs.

I collapse onto our couch with a defeated sigh. “Why are you even up this early?”

“Early class at the studio,” she calls back, the refrigerator door opening and closing in punctuation.

I stuff a pillow under my head. Maybe I can salvage a few more hours of sleep before class.

Cassidy reappears with a water bottle, her expression entirely too chipper for this ungodly hour. “And I’m thinking…”

I crack open one eye. “Thinking?”

“How we’re going to spend this gloriously spooky evening.”

“We?”

Her baby blue eyes twinkle with that familiar mischief I’ve come to both love and dread. “There’s a party tonight.”

“Nope!” I cut her off before she can finish.

“Rhea!” she knocks my feet down from the couch’s armrest and sits opposite me. “It’s a huge party.”

When I don’t respond, she goes on, “It’s Halloween. There’s gonna be alcohol, hot shirtless guys.” Pausing to think, she flicks her bottle cap at me. “Certified mindless grinding on the dancefloor.”

“All I’m hearing is I’ll be groped by drunk, horny frat guys.”

She rolls her eyes. “You won’t get groped, Rhea and don’t be such a judgmental killjoy.

” Her expression softens as she scoots closer and pleads her case.

“Look, it’s Halloween. Everyone is going to be dressed up, it’ll be fun.

And we can stay together the whole time, and believe me, I won’t let any meat head touch you. ”

I groan, knowing I’ll be going.

We’ve been friends since we were freshmen in high school, and ever since we met in that badly lit hallway of that crappy school, we’ve basically been joined at the hip.

She was the first person to break through my shell, the one who dragged me into trouble and laughed about it after.

She’s been there for almost every major event in my life—the good and the bad.

From my first heartbreak to late-night study sessions, from my horrendous family drama to college acceptance letters, Cassidy has always been by my side, her endless optimism balancing out my cautiousness.

Even now, as she flashes that signature grin, I know I’ll probably end up at this frat party, no matter how much I want to avoid it.

But I could at least put up a good fight before.

“I would love to, but you know Professor Jennings asked me to help record the grades from his Psych 101 class.”

“I already know you’re done with that. No excuses this time, babe. It’s Halloween. You can be anyone you want to be, as long as it’s not Miss Overachieving TA.” She nudges my thigh, her grin growing. “You might even enjoy yourself.”

I frown and cross my arms, and her grin evolves into a triumphant smirk like she knows she knows she’s wearing me down.

“I’ll think about it.”

“I already have the perfect costume for you!” she squeals and jumps up from her seat, shimmying her hips as she dances away.

“I didn’t say yes and excuse me, a costume?”

Fraternities are fascinating from a psychological point of view—the way they operate like their own little kingdoms, with unspoken rules, power hierarchies, and the intoxicating allure of belonging.

It draws people in, those who crave to belong to a collective to feel like they’re part of something larger, something exclusive. It’s not just the parties or the reputation—it’s the sense of identity, the validation that comes from fitting in, from being chosen.

But in truth, they’re all just a bunch of horny douchebags.

Case in point; The first thing I see when Cassidy and I arrive at the party is a group of shirtless guys shot gunning beers on the lawn, surrounded by cheering onlookers. The air reeks of sweat and stale alcohol, and the blaring music vibrates through the ground to the sidewalk where we stand.

The Delta Sigma Rho house looms overhead, a towering mansion that’s seen better days, but still holds onto its glory with the kind of arrogance only a frat house could.

Ivy crawls up the brick walls, its dark tendrils lit by gaudy string lights that are haphazardly strung around the porch.

The windows glow with warm, flickering multicolored lights, but the inside is anything but cozy.

From where I stand, I can hear the pounding bass vibrating through the walls, mingling with the roar of laughter and shouting voices.

The lawn is littered with red Solo cups and beer cans, some of which have spilled their contents into the grass, leaving wet patches that no one seems to notice.

Another group of frat boys sit on the porch steps, clearly drunk, swaying as they debate something only they care about.

The front door is wide open, inviting anyone and everyone inside, where the real chaos unfolds.

One of the douches winks at me as we approach, his gaze slides up and down my frame before settling on my bare legs, his cocky grin wide as he blows me a kiss. Typical.

I stop myself from flipping him off and instead roll my eyes before glancing at Cassidy who’s already buzzing with excitement.

“Welcome to frat paradise,” she says with a smirk, dragging me toward the door.

“Is it too late to go back?” I shout over the music, trying to tug the hem of the white pleated skirt lower over my thighs. It keeps riding up when I walk.

My fault for letting Cassidy dress me up as a sexy tennis player.

Fits my aesthetic, my ass!

“We’re already here!” she shouts back.

I huff . I know I shouldn’t have come.

The interior is a clash of extravagant and rundown.

Leather couches with torn seams line the walls, and tables that were probably expensive once are now sticky with spilled drinks and questionable substances.

A chandelier dangles precariously from the ceiling, casting a dim, uneven light over the throng of people dancing, shouting, and stumbling their way through the maze of bodies.

The smell of sweat, cheap cologne, weed and alcohol is almost suffocating.

In the distance, I catch a glimpse of a back patio where the real debauchery begins—beer pong, funnels, and half-naked guys showing off their latest trick shots. Upstairs? I can only imagine what’s going on behind the closed doors.

I side step a couple dressed as Sonny and Cher, making out against the stair railing, oblivious to the chaos around them. The girl’s wig slips off, but neither of them seems to care. Their sloppy kisses are just another part of the spectacle, blending into the hedonistic swirl of the night.

Cassidy tugs at my hand and I turn back to her, wishing I had bleach for my eyes.

“Let’s go get a drink!” she shouts and motions to the kitchen.

I’ll need a drink if I want to survive this night.

I follow her through the crowd, shoving aside sweaty gyrating bodies, till we finally arrived at our destination.

The kitchen is a whirlwind of activity, with people clustered around a marble island which doubles as a bar and is stacked with various liquor bottles and an impressive pyramid of red cups.

The air is thick with laughter and the sharp tang of spilled alcohol, making my head spin a little.

A few guys are engaged in a rowdy game of beer pong at the far end, the sound of ping pong balls ricocheting off the table mingling with the music pulsing from the other room.

Cassidy grabs some cups from a lower stack, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she scans the crowd of hollering guys at the other end of the kitchen.

“What do you want?” she asks, already reaching for a bottle of something that looks suspiciously like Vodka.

“Surprise me,” I reply, trying to sound more enthusiastic than I feel. I watch her pour a drink into one of the cups. She hands it over to me with a grin. I hesitate before taking a sip.

The burn hits me instantly and I grimace slightly, swallowing it down. Warmth spreads through me, settling in my belly and easing the tight knot of apprehension in my chest.

Yep! Vodka.

“See? This is what it’s all about!” Cassidy exclaims, her laughter ringing in my ears as she drags me further into the chaos. For a moment, the overwhelming crowd and raucous laughter drown out my worries, and I almost feel like I belong here.