Riley's Night

She should have known the moment she stepped out into the corridor and saw the shadows stretched knife-thin across the tile, but Riley’s mind was still back at the edge of the world, hair streaming in the ocean wind, her fingers raw from clutching her late husband’s ring. By the time she noticed Arabella in the gloom, it was too late: Host and contestant, caught at the perfect fulcrum between light and dark.

The corridor was empty except for the two of them. Arabella’s silhouette was backlit by the dim honeycomb of a wall sconce, her hands folded at her waist, face a study in beautiful indifference. Riley had never understood how Arabella could look so soft and so dangerous at the same time—like a cat perched above a mouse hole, humming Vivaldi. Tonight, there was something extra in the air: a pressure, a warning, and Riley’s body clocked it before her mind could catch up.

She kept walking. She wouldn’t be the first to break pace.

Arabella inclined her head, not quite a bow, but enough to sharpen the power dynamic. “Ms. Anderson. Or is it Bennett, these days?”

Riley flinched at the sound of her married name. “Does it matter?”

“Not to me.” Arabella smiled, and the smile never reached her eyes. “But I find people are more themselves when they answer to the thing that cost them the most.” She waited, just long enough for the barb to land, then said, “You know why I’m here.”

Riley planted her feet. “Yeah. I’m not going.”

Arabella’s smile froze, fractionally. “It’s not a request. It’s tonight, or…” she trailed off, letting the sentence float in the stale, electric air.

“Or what?” Riley’s hands balled into fists, pulse spiking. “You turn me into a catgirl? Make me grow another pair of tits, like the rest of your circus?”

Arabella drew closer, heels whispering over the stone, her perfume a faint, expensive ghost. “No. That wouldn’t suit you.” Her voice slipped to a whisper, full of theater and steel. “But we could, if necessary, put you on a leash, and **** you to walk on all fours, crawl for the pleasure of the audience. You’d be amazed how quickly the Audience votes for cruelty, when the subject is so defiant.” Her eyes glittered, hard as emeralds. “Punishments can get creative, Riley. I trust there are voices you would not wish to hear calling you in the dark, yet forever out of reach. Or nightmares you would not wish haunting your waking hours. Not all I can do is physical, Riley. A woman’s will can be broken far more easily than you might believe, if the right pressure is applied.”

Riley’s jaw clicked; she felt the tendons in her neck go taut as piano wire. The urge to punch Arabella’s perfect teeth was so overwhelming she had to look away, out into the gardens. She imagined her arm swinging, the shock of knuckles against bone, the blood spray, and found herself almost trembling with anticipation.

Arabella watched the struggle play out, then said, “You can hit me, if you wish. That, of course, is reason for punishment according to the rules, but you do not care for hurt, do you? You believe, incorrectly, that you’ve been hurt as much as anyone can be hurt.” Her eyes sparkled and Riley felt a shiver down her spine. “You have a choice, Riley. Go upstairs to the Master’s Suite, or we make it a lesson for the rest.” She produced a thin rectangle of card from somewhere inside her gown. “You can refuse, of course, but the result will be much the same. Only, far less pleasant for you.”

Riley snatched the card, holding Arabella’s gaze the entire time. “You think I’m scared of you?”

Arabella’s eyes, emerald and utterly empty, reflected Riley’s face back at her. “Of me? Yes. You see me and believe I am one thing, but I assure you, Riley, I have been here, dealing with women who think they have nothing to lose since before your civilization rose from the mud. You should be scared for yourself.” She waited, then added, “You’re not the only person who’s lost someone here. You’re not the only person whose pain is real.” She nodded down the hall, toward the pool. “If you keep bleeding like this, you’ll drown the whole harem in it.”

“You can hit me, if you want,” Arabella said, voice gone low and syrupy. “But if you do, the next time you wake up, it’ll be in a kennel. And you’ll only be allowed to speak when spoken to.” She tapped a finger against Riley’s chest, gentle but precise. “Is that what you want, Riley?”

Riley’s breath came in shallow, angry bursts. She tried to **** a laugh, but it stuck. “You really don’t care what happens to us, do you?”

Arabella’s lips twitched, the ghost of empathy. “You’d be surprised.” She stepped back, letting the tension cool to embers. “The rules are simple. You don’t have to fuck him. You don’t even have to talk, unless you want to. But you do have to sleep in his bed, for the night. Just like every other contestant. Is that so impossible?”

Riley nearly said, Yes, but the words shriveled on her tongue. She thought of Laura, of the way her friend could always find an angle to cut through the bullshit. She wondered if Laura would tell her to go, just to spite the system. Just to survive another day.

“I’ll go,” Riley spat. “But if you think this is going to change anything—”

Arabella interrupted with a delicate, almost pitying wave of her hand. “Nothing changes until you want it to. But next time you try ****, Riley, you won’t come back from it. I promise.” She glided down the corridor, heels silent, voice floating back: “Have a lovely evening.”

Riley stood in the aftermath, her body vibrating with adrenaline and defeat. The corridor was empty again, but the air still felt thick with threat. She stared at the elevator at the end of the hall, the way its brass doors gleamed like a warning, and for a moment she saw herself reflected in their surface: every muscle rigid, every nerve ready to snap.

She let the rage burn through her, let it hollow her out. She wouldn’t give Arabella the satisfaction of a meltdown. She would do what she always did: show up, endure, leave her mark on the record, and wait for her shot to make things right.

When she could finally move, Riley wiped her palms on her jeans (she realized, with bitter humor, she’d shredded a seam at the pocket) and walked to the elevator, refusing to look back. The doors opened with the barest hiss, and she stepped inside, waiting for whatever hell the night would bring.

The elevator doors hissed open, and Riley walked straight into the line of fire. Andy stood at the far end of the marble foyer, hands in his pockets, posture so neutral it was almost hostile. He’d dressed up for the occasion, or maybe just dressed—button-down, sleeves rolled, dark slacks that belonged on a man who had his shit together. The room behind him was all glass and wood and ocean views, but the only thing Riley could see was him.

She stopped just short of the threshold, as if there were a tripwire she didn’t trust. Then, deliberately, she hugged the perimeter of the entryway, tracing the edge of the room like a wolf circling a much larger, much more tired wolf. Arms folded so tight across her chest it looked like she was holding her ribs together. Eyes locked on a spot somewhere above Andy’s left shoulder, as if daring him to flinch first.

He didn’t. He just said, “Evening,” in the same voice he might have used to order coffee or negotiate a ceasefire.

She snorted, low and sharp. “Let’s skip the small talk. Unless you want to reminisce about high school. Or eulogies. Or funerals.”

Andy’s face didn’t move, but his hand—she caught it, the tic—twitched just enough that the knuckles blanched. “I don’t think you came here for small talk,” he said. “So let’s not pretend.”

Riley stormed past him, planting herself on the far side of the cavernous, island-sized kitchen so that half the room lay between them like a moat. She spun, arms spread wide, eyes flickering with ice. “You want to know why I’m here?” she asked, her voice razor-sharp. “Because the rules demanded I show up. Because the Host will burn me to ash if I don’t. And because I need to stare at you—look you dead in the eye—and remind myself why some people never, ever change.”

She paused, waiting for the inevitable—an explosion, or a retreat, or at least a flinch. Instead, Andy took a single, deliberate step forward. He stopped just far enough that the countertop remained between them, an unspoken challenge. He stood perfectly still, arms at his sides, refusing to hand her the satisfaction of a reaction.

“Fine,” he said at last, his tone calm, measured. “You’re here. Say whatever you’ve been itching to say for sixteen years.”

Riley drew in a breath—slow, thunderous—and let it hiss out like she was exhaling pure poison. “Sixteen years, Andy, and you still play the victim. You’re the eternal martyr, draping yourself in wounded innocence so everyone else feels guilty.”

She closed the distance, her words a low growl. “You killed her, Andy. Maybe not with your own hands, but with your lies, your gutless cowardice, and that brilliant talent you have for inflicting misery without ever owning it. I used to think I hated you because you stole my friend away. But you didn’t steal her. You shattered her. And now you’re picking people off one by one, stacking their wreckage like some grotesque pyramid. How many of these other women will be hurt?”

Andy’s face hardened into stone, but Riley saw his jaw tick, heard the faint click of his teeth clenching. He inched closer, willing himself to stay silent, to swallow whatever fierce retort burned behind his teeth. He knew if he spoke, he’d give her exactly what she wanted: an argument, a fight, more fuel for her vendetta.

“That’s a hell of a story,” he said finally, voice low and steady. “But if you’re going to keep telling it, maybe you should check your facts.”

Riley laughed—a harsh, ugly bark that echoed off the tile. “Oh, the facts?” she spat. “Let’s lay them out, shall we? You were in love with her, and she was in love with you—but you couldn’t just admit it. No, you had to string her along, whispering just enough sweetness to keep her hopeful while you lined up your little side parade. Chloe was just the opening act. Those ‘rumors’ weren’t rumors—they were a roster. And when she finally unraveled and realized you’d been playing her like a fiddle, she didn’t come to you. She came to me.”

She leaned over the counter, eyes burning. “You want to know what she said? She told me she was terrified. Terrified that the person she trusted most was a stranger—someone who could dismantle her life in a single breath. She said she felt so stupid for ever believing she was enough. Do you know what I did?” Her voice cracked—just for a heartbeat—before the venom returned. “I told her to face you. To demand the truth. I told her not to let you gaslight her into doubting her own mind.”

She slammed her palm into the countertop with a **** that rattled everything in the kitchen again. “I told her to meet you on that fucking bridge, Andy. Go ahead—deny that fact. That’s the only one that matters.”

Andy waited until the last word bounced off the glass. Then he said, quietly, “Did she tell you she saw everything?”

Riley bristled, shoulders rising. “What does it matter? She knew enough.”

Andy took a step closer, voice so flat it scared her. “Did she say she saw me and Chloe behind the gym?”

Riley opened her mouth, then paused, replaying the memory. “She… She said someone told her. Why?”

Andy exhaled. “Because it’s not true. Chloe kissed me, and I didn’t kiss back. I told her I was in love with Laura, Riley. I told her to her face. But by the time Laura got to the bridge, she wouldn’t listen.”

Riley’s laugh was a knife. “You expect me to believe that? After all this time? You want to rewrite the ending so you’re not the villain? Fuck you, Andy. You want a confession? Fine. I pushed her to go to you. I told her to fight for you. I sat in my room and waited for her to come home, and when she didn’t, I thought maybe you’d made up. That she’d forgiven you. And then the call came, and you—” Her voice caught, raw. “You were alive, and she wasn’t.”

Andy leaned in, and Riley hated how calm he looked, even with his hands shaking.

“You want the truth?” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “I never got to tell her. Not once. I never got to say I loved her. I spent years unaware of how to call what I felt for her, and then I ran out of moments. You think you have a monopoly on grief? You think you’re the only one who lost her?”

Riley’s hands curled into claws. “Don’t you dare.”

“I lost her, too,” Andy said, the words like gunshots. “I lost myself that day, Riley. You want a villain? Fine. But don’t pretend you’re the only casualty.”

Riley slammed both hands on the marble, knuckles going white. “I don’t want your bleeding-heart bullshit,” she spat. “I want you to see what you destroyed!”

Andy’s voice was ice. “No one knows better than me.”

Riley searched his face for a crack to exploit, any spark of regret she could twist into victory. But he stood rigid, breathing slow, eyes flicking away before they met hers again—refusing to give her another scrap. He realized then that engaging further would only shred them both. So he said nothing, held his silence tight, and let the empty space between them scream louder than any words.

She stared at him, searching for any sign of weakness, anything she could use to feel superior or safe. But all she saw was a man holding the ruins of his own life together with spit and hope.

She couldn’t stand it.

“God, you’re impossible,” she spat. “Sixteen years and you’re still playing the same fucking game. You never take responsibility. Not really.”

He didn’t answer, just let the silence sit.

She turned away, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, furious at the tears. “You know what the worst part is? I don’t even know why I’m still angry. She’s gone. You’re still here. Maybe that’s what pisses me off.”

Andy’s voice was gentle, but unyielding. “Then why stay?”

Riley spun, eyes wild. “Because someone has to remember her. Someone has to make you pay for what you did. And if it isn’t me, it’ll be nobody.”

Andy held her gaze. “You’ve been carrying this since we were thirteen?”

She barked a laugh, a sound that bordered on a sob. “Thirteen, sixteen, twenty-nine. Doesn’t matter. Some wounds just keep reopening.” She hesitated, the mask flickering for a split second. “I lost a lot more than her, you know.”

He nodded, as if that was a language they both understood.

Riley squared her shoulders, the old armor snapping back into place. “Whatever. I’m done. I hope you’re happy with your little harem, Andy. I hope you find what you’re looking for. Just keep me out of it.”

He didn’t reply, and she didn’t wait for him to try. She stalked off down the hallway, slamming the bedroom door hard enough that one of the paintings rattled on its hook. For a moment, Andy stood in the foyer, staring at the empty space where she’d stood. He looked utterly blank, but the set of his shoulders told a different story: all the weight, all the years, right back where they started.

In the silence that followed, Riley pressed her fists to her chest and tried not to scream.

The Suite at night was all sharp edges and reflected blue, the kind of cold that made even lamplight look like a broken promise. Riley let herself in, slamming the door behind her, and paced a slow circle around the open-plan bedroom. She was wound so tight that her teeth ached, but she was determined not to break in front of anyone—not the Host, not the Master, not the house full of women whose problems were mostly measured in centimeters and sex appeal.

She kicked off her boots at the threshold, then sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, and stared straight ahead at the glass wall and the faint, blurred lights of the coastline.

She stared at her own reflection in the dark glass, the way the lamplight made her hair look almost black, her skin anemic and stretched. In the reflection, Andy lingered in the other room. Even when he stood half a football field away, Riley could feel the mass of his presence, as if the house itself was tilting to keep her on the defensive.

She expected Andy to wait until she’d fallen asleep before coming in, but he was right behind her, opening the door, already pulling off his shirt as he entered the room. He said nothing, just placed his folded clothes on the opposite side of the bed, then climbed in, pulling the sheet up to his chest.

Riley sat perfectly still for a long time, staring at the ceiling, then at the wall, then at the shape of Andy’s shoulders outlined in the lamplight.

“You always this eager to get to bed?” Riley finally spat into the darkness.

Andy rolled onto his side, facing away. “I thought you’d prefer it if I didn’t talk.”

She snorted, sharp as broken glass. “Maybe if you’d learned that lesson sixteen years ago.” The silence that followed snapped shut around them, denser than any blanket.

Riley eased herself under the covers, maintaining a chasm’s width between their bodies.

She lay rigid on her side, every muscle coiled as if sheer **** of will could shove him away. The sheet separating them might as well have been the Grand Canyon. She shut her eyes and summoned the last time she’d shared a bed with a person she loved—John’s heavy arm across her waist, the heat of him against her back, his steady heartbeat in the dead of night. The memory fractured and slipped away, leaving only jagged shards. She bit the inside of her cheek until copper burned her tongue.

Andy lay motionless, his breathing steady but deliberate, as though he measured each exhale to punish her. Every tiny shift she made echoed like a thunderclap. Every rustle of fabric felt obscene.

Minutes blurred into an hour. Riley drifted and snapped back, never truly asleep. At last she turned onto her back, staring at the cracked ceiling. Shadows danced overhead, a slow, cruel ballet. Words tumbled out, barely above a whisper but sharp enough to cut.

“You know, Laura never got to do any of this,” she murmured, eyes fixed on a paint-chipped line. “She never grew up. She never saved for a wedding dress, never smelled a dozen stupid perfumes, never wondered if she wanted kids. She didn’t even get a proper funeral dress—her mother shoved her into that tacky white one from the spring dance, the one with the laces. Can you picture it? Your girlfriend embalmed in the same thing she wore to twirl around a gym floor.”

Andy said nothing.

Then Riley’s voice, tighter now. “She was going to be a doctor. A pediatrician—you knew that, right? You watched her play doctor with her cousins, pressing the stethoscope to their chests, telling them they’d live to be a hundred and ten. She believed in miracles. She would have been brilliant. A good wife. A good mother. A good human being. And you—” Her words cracked like ice underfoot “—you stole that from her. You stole everything.”

The mattress groaned as she shifted. Andy didn’t answer. She half-wondered if he was crying; she hated herself for caring.

Riley curled back on her side, turning her back to him. Her grip on the mattress tightened until her nails bit into fabric. “You know what she always said about you? That you were worth waiting for. She thought you were just scared, or slow, or too damn stubborn to admit you loved her. She bet her life on you. She believed in you when you wouldn’t even believe in yourself.” Riley’s voice wavered, then snapped with hatred. “What a waste.”

She closed her eyes, bitterness flooding her veins like ice water. “I hope you hear her voice every time you close your eyes. I hope she haunts your dreams until you can’t sleep for the guilt.”

When Andy finally spoke, it was so soft Riley almost missed it. “She does.”

Riley pressed her face into the pillow, hating the sting of tears she refused to let fall.

Dawn broke in a violent orange, a strip of color slicing the dark clean in half. Riley opened her eyes to find Andy already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, staring at the floor as if it might provide answers to questions he’d never even asked.

She rolled over, ignoring the ache in her jaw, and stared at the ceiling. She wondered if he’d gotten any sleep at all, or if he’d spent the whole night cataloging regrets. She wondered if he even regretted it.

Andy turned, almost by reflex, and caught her watching him. For a long moment, they just looked at each other, no words left to weaponize.

Riley saw the exhaustion in his face, the haunted edge she’d tried to ignore. She also saw the thing she hadn’t wanted to see: a flicker of something like care, or maybe just old habit, the way he’d always watched out for her and Laura, even when she didn’t want him to.

She looked away first, but not before she saw his eyes flick down to her throat, to the place where the chains hung against her skin. She sat up, letting the covers drop, and felt the weight of the ring catch in the hollow of her collarbone. The other chain, longer, kept its secrets underneath her shirt.

Andy’s gaze lingered a second too long. He recognized the ring—maybe not the specifics, but the significance. Riley watched the realization play across his face. She wondered if he’d say anything, if he’d dare.

He didn’t. He just nodded, as if they’d reached the end of something, then got up and headed to the shower.

Riley sat there, the morning light making her feel raw and transparent, and traced the ring with her thumb. She thought of Laura again, and John, and John, and every other person she’d ever failed to save. She thought of Andy, standing under the weight of all that history, and for the first time, she wondered if he was as tired as she was.

She laced up her boots with methodical precision. She wanted to leave before Andy came out of the bathroom, but as she made for the door, he appeared in the hallway, towel around his waist, hair wet and eyes ringed with red.

Neither of them said anything. Andy held her gaze for a heartbeat, then stepped aside, letting her pass.

She walked out without looking back, boots thumping on the tile, each step louder than the last.

In the sudden quiet, Andy stood in the doorway, watching the place where she’d just been, his hands loose at his sides. He looked lost, but also strangely lighter, as if a little of the burden had been shared, or at least acknowledged.

He lingered there, staring at the empty room, for a long time. He thought about the night before, about the things said and the things left unsaid, and the pains he had heard in Riley’s voice, beyond Laura’s ****, beyond the accretion of grief turned to rage. He thought of the ring, and began to consider.