*Chapter 3: The Drink*
The Carter house had never felt this loud.
Music was playing from the living room speakers. Not the old jazz Grandma Rose liked. This was pop. Chloe’s playlist.
“Smile more, Jane,” Victoria Carter said as she adjusted the flowers on the dining table. “It’s your birthday. Act like it.”
Jane forced a smile. The red dress was still hanging in her closet. She’d worn jeans and a cream blouse instead.
“Where’s Dad?” Jane asked.
“On a call,” Thomas Carter answered without looking up from his phone. “He’ll be down in a minute. Ethan’s coming too, right?”
“Yes,” Jane said. “At 7.”
Victoria and Chloe exchanged a look. Quick. Barely there. But Jane caught it.
Grandma Rose sat in her usual chair by the window, knitting. She hadn’t said much all day.
“You should eat something,” Grandma said, pushing a plate of fruit toward Jane. “You look pale.”
“I’m fine,” Jane said. But her stomach was in knots.
By 6:30, the house smelled like roast chicken and garlic bread. Chloe had “helped” in the kitchen. That meant she took selfies and ate the frosting.
“Let me pour the drinks,” Victoria said brightly, heading to the bar cart. “Special birthday punch. My recipe.”
She pulled out a crystal pitcher. Red liquid. Sliced oranges and berries floating on top.
“Just for you, birthday girl,” Victoria said, handing Jane the first glass. Ice clinked.
Jane took it. “Thank you.”
The punch was sweet. Too sweet. With a faint bitter aftertaste at the end. Jane frowned and set it down after two sips.
“Don’t you like it?” Chloe asked, pouting. “Mom made it special.”
“It’s good,” Jane lied. “I’m just not thirsty.”
Victoria’s smile tightened. “Drink up. It’s rude not to finish.”
Jane picked it up again and took one more sip just to stop the comments.
At 7:05, Ethan Brooks arrived with white lilies and a small gift bag.
“Sorry I’m late. Traffic,” he said, kissing Jane’s cheek. “Happy birthday.”
He looked so normal. So safe. In his navy blazer and easy smile.
Dinner was served at 7:30. Everyone sat down. Thomas at the head. Victoria to his right. Chloe next to her. Grandma Rose across from Jane. Ethan beside Jane.
Victoria kept refilling glasses. Wine for the adults. Punch for Jane.
“To Jane,” Thomas said, raising his glass. “19 years old. Engaged to a good man. My daughter.”
“To Jane,” everyone echoed.
Jane raised her glass. She only pretended to drink. The liquid touched her lips and she set it down.
Halfway through dinner, her head started to feel fuzzy.
_Weird_, she thought. _I only had two sips._
The lights seemed brighter. The voices louder.
“Jane, are you okay?” Ethan whispered.
“Yeah,” she said. “Just tired.”
Chloe was watching her. Not eating. Just watching. With that small, tight smile she got when she wanted something.
After dessert, Victoria stood. “Jane, honey, why don’t you go lie down for a bit? You look exhausted. Chloe can show you to the guest room upstairs. It’s cooler there.”
“I’m okay down here—”
“Nonsense,” Victoria cut in. “Go rest. We’ll call you when Ethan is ready to leave.”
Jane tried to stand. The floor tilted.
_That’s not normal_, a small voice in her head said. _That’s not tired._
“Come on, big sister,” Chloe said, looping her arm through Jane’s. Her grip was too tight. “Let’s get you to bed.”
They walked up the stairs. Jane’s legs felt like they were made of sand.
The guest room door was open. Dark curtains. A made bed. On the nightstand: another glass of punch. Half full.
“Drink this,” Chloe said, picking it up. “It’ll help you sleep.”
Jane stared at it. Her heart was beating too fast now.
“Why is there punch in here?”
“Because you left yours downstairs,” Chloe said quickly. Too quickly. “Drink it.”
Jane shook her head. “I’m not—”
The door clicked shut behind them.
And from downstairs, Jane heard Victoria’s voice, low and sharp:
“Is it done? Is she in the room?”
A man’s voice answered. She didn’t recognize it.
“Yeah. Dalton’s waiting. Just get her to drink the rest.”
Jane’s blood went cold.
She turned to run, but Chloe shoved her. Not hard. Just enough.
“You’re so dramatic,” Chloe whispered. “It’s just one night. Then Ethan will leave you, and Dad will finally pay attention to me.”
Jane stumbled back toward the door. Her vision was blurring.
_The punch. Something was in the punch._
She reached for the door handle. Locked.
“Chloe, please,” Jane whispered. “Don’t do this.”
Chloe didn’t answer. She just walked out and closed the door.
Jane heard the key turn.
She slid to the floor, pressing her back against the door. Her head was spinning. Her hands were shaking.
From the other side of the room, she heard movement. A rustle of fabric. Breathing.
There was someone else in the room.
Jane forced her eyes open.
On the bed, a man was lying still. Older. Maybe 40s. His tie was loose. His eyes were closed.
Mr. Dalton. Her father’s business partner.
Jane tried to scream. Nothing came out.
The last thing she saw before the darkness pulled her under was the door opening again.
But it wasn’t Dalton who walked in.
It was a different man. Taller. In a rumpled suit. Looking just as dazed and drugged as she felt.
He stumbled in, muttered “Wrong room,” and collapsed onto the bed beside Dalton.
And then everything went black.