The bass from the speakers vibrated through the floor, up Julian's legs, and settled deep in his chest, a familiar, welcome thrum that felt like a second heartbeat. He leaned against the cool marble of the bar, a half-empty glass of something amber in his hand, and watched the chaos unfold. Bodies writhed on a makeshift dance floor in the center of Marcus's living room—a space probably bigger than his first-year dorm. Flashing lights, red and blue, painted strobing, demonic looks on the faces of his peers.

"Oi, J!" A heavy arm slung over his shoulder. It was Leo, his grin wide and stupid. "You're slacking, mate. Chloe over there was asking for you." He gestured toward a blonde in a dress that was more of a suggestion than actual clothing. Julian followed his gaze, taking in the scene. Chloe was laughing, twirling a strand of hair, her eyes already locked on him. Easy.

"In a minute," Julian slurred, his words loose. "Gotta finish this first. It's top-shelf stuff. Marcus's dad will never notice." He took a long swallow, the expensive liquor burning a pleasant trail down his throat. The scent of perfume and sweat hung thick in the air, the floor sticky beneath his expensive shoes.

The black town car was waiting when he finally left, just as the text had promised. The ride home was a blur of streetlights smearing across the window. When he arrived, the grand, imposing facade of his family's mansion looked more like a prison than a home. The marble foyer felt cold against his skin as he stumbled through the massive oak doors, kicking them shut behind him. The sudden silence was jarring compared to the party's chaos.

He walked into the study without knocking. His father, Richard, stood by the fireplace, a decanter of brandy in hand. His mother, Eleanor, sat on the plush velvet sofa, her hands clasped tightly in her lap—the picture of disappointed aristocracy. "Julian," his father began, his voice low and calm, which was always more terrifying than when he yelled. "Thank you for gracing us with your presence."

"Didn't have much of a choice, did I?" Julian retorted, collapsing into an armchair opposite his mother. The alcohol haze in his mind made the conversation feel distant, like he was watching it happen to someone else.

Just then, the study door opened, and Julian's older brother, Ethan, leaned in—perfectly tailored suit, infuriating picture of responsibility. "Everything alright in here?" Ethan asked, eyes dancing with amusement at Julian's disheveled state. "Little bro get into a spot of bother again?"

After Ethan left, Richard fixed Julian with a hard gaze. "Your brother manages a multi-million-dollar portfolio for my company. You can't even manage to get to a 9 a.m. lecture."

"I'm not Ethan!" Julian yelled, finally losing his cool and surging to his feet. "I don't want to be Ethan!"

"Your 'fun' world is about to get a major overhaul," his father stated, setting his glass down. "We've tried everything. Tutors, therapists, threats. Nothing works. You are out of control."

"So what's the new plan? Military school?" Julian scoffed.

"No," Eleanor said, standing up. Her eyes were sad, but her resolve was firm. "We're trying one last time. A different approach. We've hired someone to... well, to be your nanny."

Julian stared at her, then at his father, before bursting into laughter. "A nanny? I'm twenty-one years old!"

"Deadly serious," Richard confirmed. "She will be responsible for ensuring you meet your obligations."

Richard walked to the door and opened it. "Julian, here she is."

A young woman stepped into the doorway, and Julian's breath caught in his throat. He had expected someone older, stern, or maybe another easy conquest. This was neither. She was his age, maybe a year younger. She stood with a quiet confidence that seemed completely at odds with the ridiculous situation. For the first time all night, Julian felt a flicker of something other than boredom or arrogance. It was a strange, unsettling feeling. Doubt.