The late March sun beats down on Lake Chickawaka as Nate takes another sip of his Corona, condensation dripping down the bottle onto his swim trunks. The Rosenberg's lake house towers behind them, its weathered wood and floor-to-ceiling windows a testament to old money taste, while before them stretches the vast expanse of the lake. Even two hours from Riverside, they've managed to recreate their own private paradise.

Jeff Thompson sprawls in the adjacent deck chair, his massive frame making the teak furniture look almost delicate. Justin Moore and Morris Vanderbaan complete their loose circle, all of them barefoot and sun-drunk, the remnants of their morning wake boarding session still visible in their wet hair.

"Yo Woodland!" Jeff's voice booms across the deck. "Tell me you've got more of those jalapeño cheddar brats! These things are insane."

Jake barely looks up from the massive stainless steel grill where he and Matthias are presiding over what looks like enough food to feed a small army. "Check the cooler by the prep station. Should be another pack." He flips a burger with practiced precision. "Unless someone's been raiding my stash."

Nate's attention drifts toward the house, where the girls are lounging on the elevated deck near the house entrance. His breath catches as he watches Amber adjust her position on one of the custom daybeds, her white bikini a stark contrast against her golden skin. Lisa and Charlotte are engaged in what appears to be an intense conversation, while Sarah and Susan leaf through magazines, their sunglasses glinting in the midday sun.

"Earth to Brooks!" Jeff's voice cuts through his reverie, accompanied by a playful headlock. "Man, you are so whipped it's not even funny anymore."

"Says the guy who nearly crashed his car checking out that cheerleader last week," Nate fires back, breaking free with a laugh. The easy brotherhood between them feels amplified here, away from the pressures of Riverside and its watchful eyes.

Justin sits up suddenly, nearly knocking over the cooler. "Yo, you guys see what's happening tomorrow? That crew from Lake Forest is throwing down on some party barge. Saw it all over Insta."

"Boat party?" Nate perks up, already imagining the possibilities. The lake's been dotted with vessels all morning, each one seemingly trying to outdo the others in terms of size and luxury. "That's like what, twenty minutes around the bend?"

"If that," Morris chimes in, adjusting his Ray-Bans. "Right past that cove where we almost sank the jet ski last summer."

"Yo, Jake!" Jeff calls out. "Boat party tomorrow! You and camera boy in?"

Jake exchanges a look with Matthias, who's meticulously arranging vegetables on the grill's upper rack. "Well, I'm definitely in. And our resident YouTuber here..." Jake throws an arm around Matthias's shoulders. "Better start planning his thumbnail face, because he's coming whether he likes it or not."

"Just trying not to burn your precious organic zucchini," Matthias mutters, but there's a smile playing at his lips. "Someone's got to keep you animals fed."

Their laughter carries across the water as Nate feels his phone vibrate against his thigh. The screen lights up with a message that makes his stomach clench:

Richard Rosenberg: Need to discuss some developments. Can we talk? Call me.

His fingers tighten around the phone as he glances toward Amber, still lounging peacefully by the house. Even here, two hours from Riverside, the weight of secrets and consequences follows them like a shadow.

Nate drains his Corona in one long pull, his mind already calculating angles and exits. "Anyone need a refill while I'm up?"

"My man!" Jeff raises his empty bottle. "Grab the good stuff from the kitchen fridge!"

"Make it two!" Morris chimes in.

"Three!" Justin adds with a lazy grin.

Nate pushes himself up from the lounge chair, his movements carefully casual despite the urgency pulsing through his veins. Richard's words echo in his head like a drumbeat: Get everyone to the lake. Establish alibis. We'll handle the rest. Simple instructions that suddenly feel anything but.

He's halfway to the house when Amber's voice floats down from the elevated deck. "Baby! Can you grab us another bottle of rosé? The Whispering Angel, not that cheap stuff Sarah brought!"

"Anything for my princess," he calls back, injecting just the right amount of devotion into his voice. It's not entirely an act - even now, with everything spinning out of control, the sight of her in that white bikini makes his heart skip.

"Love you!" Her voice carries that particular tone that always makes him feel invincible.

"Love you more, princess!"

The house's cool interior hits him like a wall as his bare feet connect with polished hardwood. Nate moves through the kitchen with practiced ease, checking sight lines and listening for footsteps. When he's certain he's alone, he reaches into the cabinet above the wine fridge, behind the collection of crystal decanters that probably cost more than his car. His fingers close around the burner phone Richard had pressed into his hands two days ago. Completely secure, son. Untraceable.

Richard picks up before the first ring finishes. "How's everyone settling in?"

"Living their best spring break lives," Nate keeps his voice low, despite knowing the nearest person is at least fifty feet away. "No one suspects anything."

"And my princess?"

"Sunbathing with the girls. Perfectly happy."

"Don't spoil her too much, Nate." Richard's chuckle carries an edge of warning. "Though I suppose that ship sailed years ago."

"Can't help myself, sir." The response is automatic, practiced.

"Listen, son. I've discussed our... situation with certain interested parties. We've reached a consensus."

Nate glances at the kitchen entrance, hyperaware of every creak and distant splash. "The line is..." He trails off, letting the question hang.

"Safer than the Cayman accounts, son." Richard's voice carries that particular tone that means serious business. "I wouldn't risk my daughter's future on anything less."

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"What's the consensus?"

"My daughter will not see the inside of a jail cell. Neither will the Woodland boy. We'll handle our... complication accordingly."

Nate's fingers tighten around the phone. "Why are you telling me this now?"

"Alex Winters." The name drops between them like a stone. "Arthur Winters' daughter. The one who's been helping our little problem child?"

"Yeah, the goth girl. What about her?"

"Her father owns Winters Construction," Richard continues, his voice carrying that particular tone that means he's already ten moves ahead. "One of the largest development companies in New England."

"Sir, with all due respect..." Nate chooses his words carefully. "Alex isn't the type to back down. She's got this whole anarchist thing going on. Anti-establishment, anti-authority-"

"Son." Richard's laugh holds no humor. "I've been handling delicate situations since before you were born. Trust me when I say everyone has a pressure point. Even rebellious trust fund daughters playing at being revolutionaries."

"I didn't mean to question-"

"No apologies necessary." The sharpness in Richard's voice softens slightly. "You've done well, Nate. Now enjoy the lake, keep everyone distracted. We'll meet next week, and by then..." He lets the sentence hang meaningfully. "Oh, and try not to wreck the boat tomorrow. I may have sold the house, but that Cobalt? Still deciding its fate."

Nate's throat feels too tight as he forces out the question: "Will they... I mean, Hannah and Alex... are they going to get hurt?"

A heavy sigh crackles through the connection. "Whatever's necessary to protect my daughter, Nate. Whatever's necessary."

"Of course, sir. Amber's safety comes first." The words taste like copper on his tongue.

"Good man. Enjoy your spring break."

The line goes dead, leaving Nate alone with the weight of what's coming. Or so he thinks, until-

"Interesting choice of hardware."

Nate whirls around to find Jake Woodland leaning against the kitchen island, his expression unreadable. Panic floods Nate's system as he realizes how this must look.

"Just Richard checking in," he manages, aiming for casual. "Making sure we haven't trashed the place yet."

"On a Nokia that looks older than my mom?" Jake's eyes narrow dangerously. "Try again, Brooks."

Nate stares at the ancient phone in his hand, knowing there's no way to spin this. Not to Jake, who's been able to read him like a book since they were kids trading Pokemon cards at recess.

"I told him," Nate admits, voice barely above a whisper. "About Hannah. About Alex."

Jake's slow nod carries years of shared secrets.

"You knew?" Nate's voice cracks slightly.

"Come on, Brooks." Jake steps closer, his cologne mixing with the scent of grilled meat and lake water. "You really think Richard Rosenberg would make a move like this without running it by my father first?"

They're standing toe to toe now in the Rosenberg's perfectly appointed kitchen, two princes of Riverside's elite realizing just how deep this conspiracy runs. "It's not just your girlfriend's future we're protecting here," Jake continues, his voice dropping lower. "My entire life is on the line. The Woodland legacy. Everything."

Understanding hits Nate like a physical blow. Of course Richard would consult William Woodland. Of course the families would close ranks, drawing their children behind walls of money and influence. A unified front against two girls who dared to ask too many questions.

Jake's hand lands on Nate's shoulder, grip just tight enough to command attention. "Next time, come to me first. We're in this together, remember?"

"Yeah, I..." Nate swallows hard. "I should have told you."

"We're good." Jake's trademark smirk returns as he releases his grip. "Now, how about I handle those Coronas while you play wine steward for your queen bee?"

"What, you don't trust me with beer duty?" Nate forces a laugh that almost sounds natural. "Afraid I'll drop your precious craft brews?"

"More like afraid you'll drink them all before they make it outside." Jake's laughter echoes through the kitchen as they gather their respective supplies - Jake loading Coronas into an ice bucket while Nate carefully selects two bottles of rosé.

They part ways at the deck split - Jake heading back toward the water while Nate climbs the stairs to the elevated terrace. He affects his most pompous butler pose, balancing the wine bucket with exaggerated precision.

"Your refreshments, mademoiselles," he announces in a terrible French accent that sets off a wave of giggles.

He makes his way around the sun-warmed deck, playing sommelier with practiced charm. Charlotte accepts her glass with a theatrical curtsy, her blonde hair catching the sunlight like spun gold. Lisa offers a mock toast, her dark eyes dancing with amusement behind oversized sunglasses.

When he reaches Sarah, his body reacts before his brain can catch up. She's stretched out on one of the custom loungers, her bronze skin slick with tanning oil, that tiny navy bikini leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. His eyes trace the curve of her spine, the swell of her hips, places he definitely shouldn't be looking. But damn, has Sarah always been this hot? The thought of her wrapped around him, those long legs... He forces himself to look away before his swim trunks betray him.

"Your rosé, my lady," he manages, his voice rougher than intended.

Finally, he reaches Susan and Amber - saving the queen for last. Amber sits up slightly, adjusting her white bikini in that way that drives him absolutely crazy. The fabric clings to her curves like a second skin, still damp from her earlier swim. All he can think about is peeling it off her, about the sounds she makes when they're alone, about how it's been way too fucking long since they've had any real privacy.

"Took you long enough," she teases, accepting her glass with regal grace. "I was beginning to think you'd gotten lost in daddy's wine cellar."

"Just ensuring optimal serving temperature, your highness." He bows with exaggerated formality, drawing more laughter from the girls. But his mind is somewhere else entirely - remembering that time in the wine cellar during last year's Christmas party, Amber's dress hiked up around her waist, her lips against his neck...

"My hero," Amber purrs, reaching up to pull him down for a kiss that tastes like sunshine and lip gloss. Her fingers trace fire across his chest, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to throw her over his shoulder and find the nearest empty bedroom. "What would I do without you?"

The question hangs in the air between them, loaded with meanings she can't possibly understand. Because soon, Nate realizes with a sick twist in his gut, she might have to find out. But right now, watching her stretch like a cat in that barely-there bikini, all he can think about is how many more hours until everyone passes out and they can finally be alone.

"Ladies, don't hesitate to call if you need anything else," Nate announces with an exaggerated bow.

"Careful with those open-ended offers, Brooks," Sarah calls after him, her voice carrying a hint of something that makes his pulse quicken. "We might just take advantage."

He catches her eye for a moment too long, something electric passing between them. Is she actually flirting with him? The thought sends a jolt through his system that he immediately tries to suppress. He's with Amber. He loves Amber. End of story.

Shaking off the moment, Nate jogs back down to the lower deck, launching himself over the back of the lounge furniture to land between Justin and Jeff with practiced athleticism.

"Look who's done playing cabana boy for the princesses," Jeff snickers, crushing an empty can against his chest. "Must be exhausting, catering to their every whim."

"Speaking of princesses," Nate leans back, trying to sound casual. "Since when did Sarah Matthews get so..." He trails off, searching for the right word.

"Smoking hot?" Jeff finishes with a knowing grin. "CrossFit, my man. Does wonders for the female form. Should've seen her at the gym last week, doing those squats..."

Jake and Matthias approach from the grill, arms loaded with platters of perfectly charred meat. Matthias starts distributing burgers and brats while Jake squeezes himself into the nonexistent space between Justin and Nate, throwing an arm around Nate's shoulders.

His lips brush Nate's ear, voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "Everything's gonna work out perfect, brother. You'll see. You, me, Amber, Susan - we all get our happy ending."

Nate turns slightly, keeping his voice equally low. "And Hannah? Alex?"

Jake's response is just one word, dark as lake water at midnight: "Gone."

The afternoon sun continues to beat down on Lake Chickawaka, turning the water to diamonds and warming their bare skin. From the elevated deck, female laughter carries on the breeze like wind chimes. The scent of grilled meat and expensive sunscreen fills the air. Everything about this moment should feel perfect - a group of golden youth living their best lives on spring break.

But all Nate can think about is that single word, heavy with promise and threat: Gone.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, he wonders if Emily thought she had a happy ending coming too.