Lisa traces her finger along the plush cream carpet of Amber's bedroom, pretending to focus on her Exit Examination study guide. The room itself is a masterpiece of understated wealth - blush pink walls adorned with black and white fashion photography in minimalist frames, a custom platform bed draped in what Lisa knows is finest Egyptian cotton, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Rosenberg's immaculate gardens. Everything carefully curated, just like Amber herself.

The crystal chandelier above casts elegant shadows across her AP Biology textbook, but Lisa can barely concentrate. She's too busy savoring the moment, drinking in the familiar scent of Amber's signature Jo Malone candles and room spray. Three months ago, she would have given anything to be back here, and now...

"I swear, if I have to memorize one more biochemical pathway, I'm going to scream," Susan groans from her perch in the custom ivory armchair, stretching like a cat in the late afternoon sun.

"At least you're basically guaranteed to ace the Yale interview," Lisa says, immediately regretting the words as they leave her mouth. Too eager, too obvious.

But Susan just smiles that particular smile that comes from generations of absolute certainty. "Daddy's legacy status does have its perks. Plus, the admissions director plays golf with him at the club." She shrugs delicately. "It's practically a done deal."

Lisa forces her expression to remain neutral, swallowing the bitter taste of envy. Her own father's idea of networking is happy hour at the local sports bar. Not exactly the fast track to the Ivy League.

"What about you, Amber?" she asks, desperate to change the subject. "Any word from Stanford?"

Amber glances up from her MacBook, her perfectly manicured fingers pausing over the keyboard. "Should be any day now. Though honestly?" Her voice softens slightly. "I'm more worried about Nate's application. Football scholarship is one thing, but academic standards are another."

"Please," Susan scoffs. "Nate's the star receiver who led us to state championships. Stanford would be idiotic not to take him. Plus," she adds with a knowing smirk, "your father's annual alumni donation probably doesn't hurt."

"I need to use the bathroom," Lisa announces, suddenly needing to escape the suffocating weight of old money privilege.

The hallway offers brief respite, its walls lined with museum-quality art that probably costs more than her mother's entire house. She's halfway to the bathroom when she hears voices drifting from Mr. Rosenberg's study - the rich tenor of Nate Brooks mixed with Richard Rosenberg's cultivated boardroom baritone.

Lisa knows she should keep walking. But something in Nate's tone makes her pause, her heart suddenly pounding against her ribs. Moving with practiced silence - a skill perfected through years of navigating high school politics - she edges closer to the partially open door.

"The situation is more serious than we initially thought, sir." Nate's voice carries none of its usual easy confidence. "She isn't just asking questions anymore. She's gathering evidence."

"About Hampton Beach?" Richard Rosenberg's response is measured, controlled. "Tell me everything, son."

"Jake and I..." Nate hesitates, and Lisa can picture him running nervous hands through his hair. "We thought we could handle it ourselves. Contain the situation. But she's working with someone now - this girl Alex Winters. They've been..." Another pause. "They've been gathering intel."

"You did the right thing coming to me." Mr. Rosenberg's chair creaks slightly. "This kind of situation requires... delicate handling."

"I'll do anything," Nate's voice drops lower, intense. "Whatever it takes to protect Amber. She doesn't deserve any of this."

"No, she doesn't." The sound of ice cubes clinking against glass. "Leave Hannah Marshall to me. I have resources at my disposal that can... redirect her attention elsewhere. People who specialize in making problems disappear."

"Sir, I don't want anyone to get hurt-"

"Sometimes, Nate," Richard Rosenberg's voice carries the weight of experience, "protecting the ones we love requires difficult choices. You understand that, don't you?"

The silence that follows feels endless. Lisa's pulse thunders in her ears as she strains to hear more, but footsteps approaching from the other direction force her to retreat. She practically runs to the bathroom, her mind racing with implications.

They were going to make Hannah "disappear." And Lisa had just overheard every word.

Lisa's hands shake as she locks the bathroom door, her breath coming in short gasps. The marble counter feels cool under her palms as she leans forward, trying to steady herself. The reflection in Amber's oversized vanity mirror looks foreign - pale face, wide eyes, the perfect mask of carefully applied makeup threatening to crack.

"They're going to hurt her," she whispers to her reflection, the words barely audible over the designer faucet's gentle drip. "They're actually going to..."

But why? The question burns in her mind like acid. Why would Nate Brooks - Mr. Perfect - go running to Richard Rosenberg about Hannah? Sure, there was Hampton Beach, and Jake... but something doesn't add up. The pieces refuse to fit together, like a jigsaw puzzle with crucial parts missing.

Fragments of memory flash through her mind - that morning after, walking across sand that felt like broken glass under her bare feet, the strange heaviness in the air at Jake's beach house. The way Amber wouldn't meet anyone's eyes, how Susan's hands trembled as she typed on her phone, the tension radiating off Nate in waves. She'd been too hungover to question it then, but now...

Her fingers move on autopilot, pulling up Snapchat. @HannahBanana2007 sits there like an accusation, the cursor blinking in the empty message field. They're coming for you. Watch your back. Richard Rosenberg has people who make problems disappear.

The words flow easily, urgently. Her thumb hovers over the send button...

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And then she thinks about Yale. About her mother's face when she got her early decision application in, the pride in her eyes. About finally escaping their tiny apartment above the restaurant, about breaking the cycle of community college and dead-end jobs. About everything she's worked for, everything she's sacrificed.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, deleting the message character by character. "I'm so sorry, Hannah."

The toilet flushes automatically as she stands - because of course the Rosenbergs have motion-sensor everything. Lisa takes one final look in the mirror, adjusting her mask of casual indifference back into place.

She's halfway down the hallway when a solid mass of expensive cologne and tailored clothing nearly knocks her off balance. Richard Rosenberg steadies her with one hand, his steel-grey hair slicked back to perfection, ice-blue eyes crinkling at the corners in what seems like genuine warmth.

"Careful there, Lisa," he chuckles, his voice carrying that particular timbre that comes from decades of commanding boardrooms. "Though I suppose I'm equally guilty of not watching where I'm going."

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Rosenberg," Lisa manages, fighting to keep her voice steady. This man had just been discussing making someone "disappear," yet here he is, radiating paternal charm like some CEO from a Hallmark movie.

"No harm done." His smile reaches his eyes, but there's something calculating in their depths that makes Lisa's skin crawl. "How's the college application process going? Yale right?”

The fact that he remembers this detail - that he bothers to remember anything about her at all - speaks volumes about how Richard Rosenberg operates. Every interaction cataloged, every piece of information stored away for potential future use.

"Yes, sir. Early decision." She forces herself to meet his gaze, channeling years of practice at playing this particular social game. "Though the waiting is nerve-wracking."

"Ah, to be young again," he says with practiced nostalgia. "Though between us?" He leans in slightly, like he's sharing a secret. "A little bird told me the admissions committee was quite impressed with your application."

Before Lisa can process the implications of this statement, a phone chimes with the distinct tone of serious money. Richard pulls out a sleek device that probably isn't even available to the general public yet.

"Duty calls, I'm afraid." He steps back, already shifting into business mode. "Always lovely to see you, Lisa. Don't study too hard."

Lisa watches him disappear into his study, her mind racing. How did he know about her application status? Why tell her? The message feels deliberate, calculated - like everything else in this house of secrets and carefully crafted appearances.

She makes her way back to Amber's room on unsteady legs, the weight of unspoken threats and impossible choices pressing down on her shoulders like lead.

Lisa's hand freezes on the doorknob as she takes in the scene before her. Amber's draped across Nate like a blanket, peppering his neck with kisses while he sprawls on her bed like he owns it. The intimacy feels almost aggressive, a performance meant to remind everyone else in the room of their golden couple status.

"Yo, Lisa." Nate acknowledges her without moving, one hand absently playing with Amber's perfectly styled hair. There's something different about him now, something harder in his eyes that makes Lisa's stomach clench. Or maybe it was always there, and she's just now seeing it.

"What's got you two so happy?" The question comes out shakier than she intended. Her mind is still reeling from the conversation she overheard, from Richard Rosenberg's too-perfect smile in the hallway.

Susan bounces on the chair like an excited child, her whole body radiating the kind of enthusiasm that only comes from a lifetime of getting exactly what you want. "Nate just pulled off the impossible. Daddy Rosenberg's letting us use the Lake Chickawaka house for a whole week!"

"It's basically abandoned anyway," Nate shrugs, but there's a hint of pride in his voice. "He's selling it to some developer who's gonna tear it down. Might as well give it one last hurrah, right?"

Amber sits up, her eyes sparkling with that particular gleam that always means trouble. "You have to come, Lisa! It'll be just like old times - swimming, bonfires, maybe even that thing with the jet skis that got us banned from the marina last summer."

"I..." Lisa's throat feels too tight. "I have shifts at the restaurant. My parents are counting on me to-"

"No way," Amber cuts her off, her voice carrying that edge of command that brooks no argument. "This is non-negotiable. The whole crew's gonna be there - Justin, Charlotte and Morris, Jeff..." She exchanges a look with Nate. "Jake's bringing some premium stuff from his dad's collection."

"Everyone's coming," Nate adds, his casual tone feeling rehearsed. "It'll be epic."

Lisa's mind flashes to Hampton Beach - another house, another party, another promise of epic times. The memory hits her like a physical blow.

"Hey." Amber's voice softens slightly, like she can read Lisa's thoughts. "You can even bring Matthias if you want. Show him how the other half lives."

The offer dangles there like bait, carefully crafted to appeal to everything Lisa wants - inclusion, status, the chance to impress her maybe-boyfriend. But underneath it all, she can't shake the feeling that something darker is brewing.

Susan rises from her chair with fluid grace, crossing to wrap Lisa in an embrace that smells of Chanel No. 5 and privilege. Her lips brush Lisa's ear, voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "Don't stress about Jake. I've got you covered, just like last time."

The words settle like stones in Lisa's stomach. Susan had been her savior that night at Hampton, appearing like an avenging angel when Jake had her pinned against the beach house wall. But something about this feels different - calculated rather than protective.

"I'll... I'll talk to Matthias," Lisa manages, fighting to keep her voice steady. "Though YouTubers aren't usually into the whole lakehouse scene."

"Are you kidding?" Nate's laugh carries that easy confidence that made half the school fall in love with him. "Matthias is cool. Different, yeah, but in a good way. Tell him to bring his camera gear - place has killer sunset views."

He stands, stretching like a satisfied cat, before dropping a kiss on Amber's forehead. "Gotta bounce, princess. Promised your little brother I'd help him with his drills before hitting the gym."

"Going to work on those abs I love so much?" Amber's voice drips honey and possession.

"Meeting Jeff," Nate grins. "Coach wants us running new patterns before the scout from UCLA shows up next week."

He hugs Susan with the easy affection of chosen family. "Later, little sis." Then he turns to Lisa, and the air suddenly feels too thick to breathe. There's a moment of awkward hesitation as they both remember - the late-night texts, the photos she shouldn't have sent, the way Amber's rage had burned cold and precise when she found out.

"See you around, Lisa," he says finally, settling for a casual nod that feels forced.

Lisa watches him leave, wondering how someone can look so golden and so dangerous at the same time. The memory of his conversation with Richard Rosenberg echoes in her mind, a dark counterpoint to his easy charm.

"Oh my god, emergency!" Amber announces, pulling her MacBook onto her lap. "We need new everything for this trip. The last time I wore my Zimmermann coverup on Instagram was like, three whole months ago."

Susan launches herself onto the bed, nearly knocking over a crystal water glass in her excitement. "Revolve just got this amazing Johanna Ortiz collection. Very 'rich bitch on vacation' vibes."

Lisa settles back onto her spot on the floor, watching them scroll through pages of designer swimwear that costs more than her college application fees. The familiar rhythm of their chatter washes over her - thread counts and designer names, shipping times and filter presets.

But underneath it all, questions churn like storm waves. What really happened that night at Hampton Beach? Why is Nate working with Richard Rosenberg to silence Hannah? And most importantly - what's really waiting for them at Lake Chickawaka?

As Susan and Amber debate the merits of different sundress designers, Lisa makes her choice. She pulls out her phone, fingers hovering over Matthias's contact info. Because maybe that's all she can do now - hold onto whatever piece of normal she can find, even as the undertow of secrets threatens to drag them all under.