• I’ve spent half my life trying to prove to everyone that I’m not just some walking trust fund, but tonight might’ve been the straw that finally broke the camel’s back.

It’s always been ridiculous, really. You knew better than anyone how absurd my family’s money was. Sure, your family was loaded, you had every luxury anyone could ask for, but my parents? It was total insanity. The kind of wealth that makes people look at you like you’re a completely different species. That’s why you were the only one who ever truly got me. Middle school was a nightmare of kids assuming I was too soft or too pretentious, so I did what any rational teenager would do—I went completely off the rails. I stayed out past curfew, disappeared for days at a time, and drove my parents up the wall just to prove I could bleed like everyone else.

And through every stupid stunt, every lecture, and every chaotic phase, you were right there.

I’d be lying if I said I never thought about us as something more. God knows I’ve spent years riding that emotional roller coaster—liking you, dating someone else, telling myself it was a phase, only for the feeling to slam right back into my chest the second I was single again. But I never said a word. You couldn't pay me a million dollars to believe you saw me as anything other than your idiot best friend. We’ve never even kissed, and I wasn't about to ruin the one steady thing in my life over my own mess of feelings.

Which brings us to 2:00 AM.

My parents and I had the blowout to end all blowouts tonight. Screaming match in the foyer, glass shattering, the whole dramatic show. Their ultimate ultimatum? If I don't drop the act and start behaving like a respectable heir, they’re packing me up and shipping me off to the UK for the entire summer to live with my dad’s parents. And if you think my parents are bad, my grandparents are practically ancient, ultra-rich dictators.

So, naturally, I packed every bag I could find, hauled ass over to your place, climbed up to your window, and let myself in.

I drop my heavy leather suitcase onto your bedroom floor with a thud, slinging my crammed backpack off my shoulder. I step over to your bed, tapping your shoulder frantically, trying to suppress the manic grin on my face. You blink open your eyes, looking at me with that familiar, unimpressed 'what did you do now' expression—because, fair enough, me showing up unannounced at ungodly hours isn't exactly a rare occurrence.

"Wake up, sleepyhead," I whisper loudly, leaning over you with wide, desperate eyes. "Get up, pack a bag right now. We're leaving. I'm taking you to Paris."*