The click of Amber's Louboutins echoes against the temporary flooring backstage as she paces, each step marking another moment without Nate. Her graduation speech - carefully crafted over sleepless nights and endless revisions - feels like ashes in her mouth as she runs through it again.
"As we stand here today, on the precipice of our futures..." The words swim before her eyes as she checks her phone for the hundredth time. Still nothing but those same robotic responses from him: "Almost there." "Nothing's wrong." "On my way."
She parts the heavy black curtain just enough to peer out at the sea of faces filling the football field. Her father sits perfectly poised in the front row, power radiating from him even in repose. Victoria beside him, elegant as always in Chanel, not a platinum hair out of place. But her eyes keep searching for that familiar broad-shouldered silhouette in graduation robes, coming up empty every time.
Principal Harrison's voice drones on through the speakers, the same tired platitudes he's probably recycled for twenty years of graduations. "...unprecedented challenges faced by this remarkable class..."
"Where are you?" Amber whispers to her phone, thumbs flying across the screen. The message delivers with that familiar swoosh, but the "last seen" timestamp – now 32 minutes ago – mocks her growing anxiety.
"Amber!"
She nearly jumps out of her skin at Susan's voice, her heel catching on the edge of the platform. "Jesus Christ, Sue! Make some noise when you walk."
"Sorry, Am." Susan catches her arm, steadying her with practiced ease. Her eyes sweep over Amber's appearance with tactical precision. "It's time. You ready to give them one last show?"
"Have you seen Nate?" The question bursts from Amber's lips before she can stop it. "He's not answering my texts, and he should be here by now, and something feels-"
"Hey." Susan grabs her shoulders, forcing eye contact. "Look at me. Whatever's going on with Brooks, we'll handle it. But right now? Right now you're about to give your last speech as queen of this godforsaken school. So take a breath, fix your lipstick, and remember who the fuck you are."
Amber's chest tightens as panic claws at her ribcage. "But what if-"
"No." Susan's voice carries that particular steel that's ended more than one social career. "No 'what ifs.' You're Amber fucking Rosenberg. You've ruled this school since freshman year. And you're going to walk out there and remind everyone exactly why."
Principal Harrison's voice cuts through their moment: "And now, it is my great pleasure to introduce our student body president and valedictorian, Miss Amber Rosenberg."
Amber's hands shake slightly as she smooths her white graduation dress. Four years of carefully maintained control, of perfect grades and flawless appearances, all leading to this moment. Her final act as Riverside's queen.
But as she steps onto the stage, blinking against the morning sun, her eyes still search the crowd for the one face she needs most. The empty chair beside Jeff in the graduate section makes her heart stutter.
The microphone looms before her like an accusation as applause washes over the field. Amber takes her place behind the podium, summoning every lesson in poise her mother ever drilled into her. Her carefully prepared speech sits before her in pristine Times New Roman, but different words entirely rise to her lips as she surveys her kingdom one last time.
Where are you, Nate? What truth are you running from now?
The silence stretches just a fraction too long as she grips the podium's edges. In the front row, her father's eyes narrow slightly – the same look he gets before executing a hostile takeover. Beside him, Victoria's smile remains fixed in place, though her knuckles whiten around her Hermès bag.
Amber opens her mouth, ready to begin the performance of her life, even as her world threatens to unravel around her. After all, isn't that what Rosenberg women do best? Keep smiling while everything burns?
Amber draws a steadying breath, her fingers relaxing against the polished wood. When she speaks, her voice carries the quiet confidence that's made her a natural leader since freshman year.
"You know," she begins with a hint of a smile, "I had this whole speech prepared. Color-coded notecards, three different drafts, enough inspirational quotes to fill a Pinterest board." Laughter ripples through the crowd as she deliberately sets aside her notes. "But standing here, looking at all of you... I think we deserve something real instead."
Her eyes sweep across the crowd, remembering everything they've been through. "Freshman year. Remember that? We barely made it through three months of normal high school before COVID hit again. Suddenly we're all trapped in our bedrooms, pretending our cameras were broken because we hadn't changed out of pajamas in days." Knowing laughter erupts from the graduates. "We became experts at faking WiFi issues during tests and turning ourselves into potato filters during class presentations. But somehow, between the Zoom fatigue and TikTok dances, we found ways to stay connected."
She catches Susan's eye in the wings, drawing strength. "Then sophomore year – finally back in person, but with masks that made everyone look like fashionable bank robbers. The year we mastered the art of smizing – smiling with your eyes – and learned that hand sanitizer could be a fashion accessory." More chuckles roll through the audience. "But it was also the year we started becoming who we are. When clubs went from Zoom rooms to real rooms, when football games weren't just livestreams anymore."
The sun catches her moonstone necklace as she continues. "Junior year. God, junior year." Her voice carries a note of pride now. "That's when everything changed. When our football team didn't just dream about State – they brought home the championship." Cheers erupt from the crowd as Jeff pumps his fist in the graduate section, that empty seat beside him still screaming Nate's absence. "When our theater department's production of Hamilton went viral on TikTok. When we finally had a real homecoming that wasn't socially distanced."
She pauses, letting her voice soften. "And now here we are. Senior year. The year of college applications and acceptance letters. Of last firsts and first lasts. The year we realized that all those cliché quotes about 'time flying' weren't cliché at all – they were warnings."
In the front row, her mother discretely wipes away a tear while her father maintains his stoic expression, though she catches the slight softening around his mouth.
"Look around. Really look at the people sitting next to you. These aren't just classmates anymore. These are the friends who've seen you through pandemic panic and championship glory. Who know your coffee order and your deepest fears. Who've been there for every triumph and disaster these four years have thrown at us."
The morning sun bathes the football field in golden light as Amber's voice takes on a depth that makes every parent lean forward. "Class of 2025, we're not just graduates. We're survivors. Champions. The class that proved we could face anything – global pandemics, AP exams, TikTok choreography – as long as we faced it together."
She can feel tears threatening now, but keeps her voice steady. "Whatever comes next – college, careers, gap years, or paths we haven't even imagined yet – remember this: We're ready. Not because we have it all figured out, but because we've learned the most important lesson of all – how to turn uncertainty into opportunity, setbacks into comebacks, and strangers into family."
The applause crashes over the field like thunder. Susan's mascara is definitely ruined now, and even Jeff has to wipe his eyes. But as Amber steps back, her smile never wavering, her heart screams the words she can't say:
Nate, where are you? Don't you dare miss this. Don't you dare let it end this way.
"Thank you," Amber manages through the applause, her perfect smile still in place as she steps back from the podium. But movement at the far end of the football field catches her eye, making her freeze mid-turn.
Blue uniforms. Badge glints in the morning sun. Not just a few officers – an army of them, moving with terrible purpose across the freshly mowed grass where just yesterday they'd practiced graduation walks.
Ten. Twenty. More.
Her heart stops as realization hits: This isn't random. This isn't a drill. This is—
Murmurs ripple through the crowd as heads turn, following her fixed stare. The applause dies like a record scratch, replaced by growing whispers and the soft rustle of program papers.
"William Woodland." The lead detective's voice carries across the suddenly silent field, amplified by the same sound system that moments ago broadcast Amber's triumph. "We need you to answer some questions."
Jake's father rises from his seat, six feet two inches of old money arrogance in a tailored suit. "By all means, Detective. Ask away." His voice drips with the kind of confidence that comes from decades of making problems disappear.
"At the station." The detective's smile holds no warmth. "Along with a few other... community leaders."
Horror floods Amber's system as she watches the officers split into groups with military precision. They're moving toward George Lawrence, toward other familiar faces from country club galas and board meetings. And then—
"Richard Rosenberg." Two officers approach her father, their badges catching the sun like warning signals. "You'll need to come with us."
"Dad!" The word tears from Amber's throat before she can stop it, her body already moving toward the stairs.
Susan's hand clamps around her arm like a vise. "Move. Now." Her best friend's voice carries none of its usual sparkle – just raw urgency that makes Amber's blood run cold.
"But my father—"
"Is exactly why we need to run." Susan's already dragging her backward, away from the podium, away from the chaos erupting below. Two officers break away from the group, their eyes locked on the stage where Amber stands frozen in her white graduation dress.
Understanding hits like lightning: They're not just here for the parents.
Amber kicks off her Louboutins without hesitation, the shoes that cost more than some cars abandoned like evidence as Susan pulls her into a sprint. They burst through the backstage curtain, nearly colliding with a shell-shocked stagehand.
"Your dad," Amber gasps as they run, her bare feet silent against the concrete path leading to the gym. "They're taking your dad too—"
"Don't." Susan's voice cracks like a whip. "Don't think. Don't ask questions. Just run."
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The gym door yields to Susan's shoulder, swallowing them in blessed darkness. Their footsteps echo against hardwood as they weave between weight machines and basketball hoops, past the trophy case where the state championship gleams like fool's gold.
"Here." Susan yanks her behind the wrestling mats stacked against the far wall, both of them breathing hard. "We need a minute to think."
"Think?" Amber's laugh holds an edge of hysteria. "Susan, they just arrested half of Riverside Heights in the middle of graduation. They took our fathers. They—"
"Were coming for us next." Susan's eyes glitter dangerously in the dim light. "Which means someone talked. Someone finally broke."
The words hit Amber like physical blows as pieces click into place: Nate's absence. Jake's recent spiral. The weight of secrets finally becoming too heavy to carry.
"What..." Her voice catches. "What exactly do you know?"
Susan's expression shifts to something Amber's never seen before – a mixture of fear and fierce protection that makes her look suddenly older. "Enough to know we need to get you out of here. Now."
A door slams somewhere in the distance, followed by the squeak of dress shoes against polished floors. The sound carries all the finality of a judge's gavel.
"Am," Susan whispers, gripping her hands. "Whatever happens next, remember – I've got you. Like always."
But for the first time in their friendship, Amber isn't sure that will be enough.
They're three steps from the door when it swings open, flooding the dim gym with harsh fluorescent light from the hallway. A figure steps through – slight build, dark curly hair, wearing a suit that looks like it came from a department store rather than their usual boutiques. He closes the door behind him with deliberate care, the lock's click echoing like a gunshot.
Something tugs at Amber's memory as he turns to face them. Something about those eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses...
"Going somewhere?" His voice carries none of the deference they're used to from Riverside's less fortunate population. Just cold satisfaction that makes Amber's skin crawl.
"Move." Susan's voice could cut glass. "Now."
His laugh sounds wrong – hollow, like something scraped raw. "Or what? Daddy's lawyers will make me disappear too? Hate to break it to you, but that trick's not going to work anymore."
"Listen here, you pathetic little—" Susan takes a threatening step forward, but Amber grabs her arm as recognition finally hits.
Jake's Halloween party. Senior year. This boy dressed as some discount store Harry Potter, hovering at the edges of their perfect world. Standing with Hannah and Alex, watching them all with those same calculating eyes…
"David Marshall." The name falls from Amber's lips like a curse. "Hannah's cousin."
"Very good." He adjusts his glasses with precise movements. "Though I'm surprised you remember. We peasants don't usually register on Mount Olympus, do we?"
"Get out of our way," Amber manages, but her voice has lost its usual commanding edge.
David's smile shows too many teeth. "You know what's funny? Hannah used to defend you. Said there was more to Amber Rosenberg than designer labels and daddy's money." His expression darkens. " Even after you turned the whole school against her. She still thought you could be better."
Each word hits like a physical blow. "You don't understand—"
"Oh, I understand perfectly." David's voice rises slightly, trembling with years of accumulated rage. "I understand how you rich girls play your games, thinking money and privilege make you untouchable. How you destroyed my cousin's life because she dared to threaten your perfect facade. How you made my girlfriend disappear when she got too close to the truth."
"Alex chose to leave," Susan snaps, but uncertainty creeps into her tone.
"Did she?" David's laugh carries no humor. "The way Emily chose to fall? The way Hannah chose to die? The way Rachel Martinez chose to transfer schools after what Jake did to her?"
Ice spreads through Amber's veins as she watches his hand slip into his suit jacket. "You've been investigating us."
"Yes." His eyes burn with triumph now. "Every party, every 'accident,' every convenient transfer. Building the case piece by piece, while you all played your perfect power games. And now?" He pulls out his phone, thumb hovering over the screen. "Now I get to watch it all burn."
"David," Amber tries for her most reasonable tone, the one that usually gets her out of any situation. "Whatever you think you know—"
"I know everything." His voice cracks like a whip. "About Hampton Beach. About Richard Rosenberg's creative problem-solving. About the night Hannah really died." He takes a step closer, and for the first time, Amber sees something dangerous beneath his scholarly exterior. "And in about thirty seconds, the police are going to know exactly where to find Riverside's Princess."
Horror floods Amber's system as realization hits: This wasn't just revenge. This was a trap. And she'd walked right into it.
Amber's heart hammers against her ribs as David's words sink in. Trapped. They're trapped. After everything – the careful plans, the buried secrets, the perfect facades – it's all crumbling because of Hannah Marshall's cousin in his cheap suit.
Then Susan's lips brush her ear, warm breath carrying impossible words: "Nate's waiting in the parking lot. Run."
"What—"
But before Amber can process what's happening, Susan Lawrence – queen bee, Yale-bound, girl who once cried for three hours over a broken nail – launches herself at David with a warrior cry that would make valkyries proud. Her perfectly manicured hands connect with his face in a savage slap that echoes through the gym. They go down hard, Susan somehow managing to look regal even as she pins him to the floor.
"Sue!" Horror and disbelief war in Amber's chest as she watches her best friend – her sister in all but blood – transform into something fierce and primal.
"GO!" Susan's voice carries steel beneath the strain as she struggles to hold David down. "For fuck's sake, Amber, RUN!"
Amber's fingers fumble with the lock, but she hesitates at the threshold. She can't leave Susan, not like this—
"I swear to God," Susan grunts as David thrashes beneath her, "if you don't move your ass right now—"
The slam of doors at the far end of the gym makes the decision for her. Police voices echo off the hardwood, and Amber's body moves on pure instinct.
She runs.
Through halls that just yesterday felt like her kingdom, past the trophy case where her cheerleading photos still shine, around corners where she used to hold court between classes. Her bare feet slap against cold tile as distant shouts grow closer. The perfect princess of Riverside High, reduced to running like a hunted animal through her own castle.
The main entrance looms ahead, sunlight streaming through glass doors like salvation. She hits them at full speed, the bright morning light momentarily blinding her.
And there he is.
Nate Brooks stands beside Jake's silver Porsche 911, frantically transferring bags from his truck. No graduation robe, no careful appearance – just jeans and a grey hoodie that somehow make him look both younger and older than she's ever seen him.
"Nate!" His name tears from her throat as she sprints across the parking lot.
She crashes into him, arms wrapping around his solid warmth, but he's already pushing her away. "Later," he says roughly, practically lifting her into the Porsche's passenger seat. "We don't have time."
"The cops—" she gasps, her mind spinning. "My father—"
"I know." Nate slides behind the wheel, the engine roaring to life with a turn of the key. His eyes meet hers for just a moment, carrying shadows she's never seen before. "Hold on."
The Porsche launches forward with enough force to press Amber back into the leather seat. She watches through the rearview mirror as Riverside High – her crown, her kingdom, her carefully constructed world – disappears behind them in a screech of expensive German engineering.
They're doing at least ninety before they hit the main road, Nate handling Jake's car like he was born to drive it. Just like that, they're gone – two graduates who never got to walk, fleeing the ruins of everything they'd built.
The adrenaline fades enough for Amber to notice the sharp sting in her feet. She looks down to see blood smearing the Porsche's pristine floor mats – the price of her barefoot escape written in crimson drops.
But it's Nate's expression that really makes her heart stop. That particular set of his jaw, the laser focus in his eyes as he takes another turn way too fast. She's seen this look before – the night Tommy disappeared after their parents' fight, the chaos at Hampton Beach, the Halloween party when she'd blacked out and he'd somehow gotten her home safe. The day Hannah exposed her diagnosis to the entire school.
This is Nate in protection mode. The version of him that both terrifies and comforts her, because it means things have gone catastrophically wrong, but he's already ten steps ahead in fixing it.
"Where?" She keeps her voice deliberately calm, the way she does when he's like this. No hysteria, no demands – just trust wrapped in a single word.
"Private airstrip outside town." His knuckles whiten on the steering wheel as he weaves through traffic like he's in a video game. "Twenty minutes if we don't hit cops."
"Nate." She forces herself to breathe steady. "They'll have the airports locked down. We can't just—"
"We're not leaving as ourselves." He reaches into his hoodie pocket without taking his eyes off the road, tossing something into her lap. Two black passports, the United Kingdom's crest gleaming like fool's gold in the morning sun.
Her fingers tremble as she opens the first one. Her own face stares back, but everything else belongs to a stranger named Rosaly Campbell, born in London twenty years ago. The craftsmanship is flawless – this isn't some backroom forgery, this is government-grade work.
"How did you—"
But he's already shaking his head as she opens the second passport. Nate's face paired with the name Daniel Lancaster, another London native with a birthdate just different enough to throw off searches.
The Porsche's engine screams as Nate takes another corner fast enough to make her grab the door handle. "Jake came to me a few days ago," he finally says, his voice tight with contained emotion. "They know everything, princess. Hampton Beach, Hannah, all of it. Detective Rodriguez has been building the case for months – following the money, connecting the deaths, finding witnesses we thought were gone."
Horror floods Amber's system as the pieces click into place. "The passports... how long have you—"
"Since Hannah." His voice cracks slightly. "I knew eventually someone would start asking the right questions. Would look past the suicides and accidents and see the pattern." He glances at her, and for a moment she sees raw fear beneath his protective rage. "I couldn't let them take you. Not after everything we did to keep you safe."
The Porsche devours miles of asphalt as Nate pushes it well past any legal speed limit, the familiar landscape of Riverside blurring into unrecognizable shapes outside their windows. Amber's mind races even faster than the car, trying to process how everything fell apart so quickly.
"How did you know?" The question barely disturbs the air between them. "This morning, when you didn't show up for graduation..."
Nate's jaw tightens as he takes another turn too fast. "Jake showed up at my door at four AM. Said Rodriguez was moving today – that she had enough evidence to take down half of Riverside Heights." His laugh holds no humor. "Guess he was right."
"But his own father..." Amber's voice trails off as she remembers William Woodland being led away in handcuffs, his usual arrogance finally cracking.
"Jake doesn't give a shit about his dad." Nate's voice carries an edge she's never heard before. "You think all those parties at the house were because daddy dearest was being generous? He was too drunk to notice Jake stealing his cars, using his houses." He glances at her, something raw in his expression. "Jake… He did this for you, princess.."
The words hit Amber like physical blows. Jake Woodland – the guy she'd written off as just another trust fund brat with wandering hands, the one who treated girls like disposable toys – had sacrificed his own father to save her. The same Jake who'd helped cover up Emily's death at Hampton Beach was now burning it all down to keep her safe.
"I don't understand," she whispers, watching unfamiliar countryside replace Riverside's carefully manicured wealth. "Why would he..."
"Because under all that privileged asshole exterior, Jake's been dying inside since Rachel Martinez." Nate takes the final turn toward the private airstrip, gravel crunching under expensive German engineering. "He couldn't turn back time. But he could save you."
The gates of William Woodland's private airstrip loom ahead of them, heavy steel that should represent another barrier. But Nate just clicks a button on Jake's key fob, and they swing open like they've been expecting them all along.
A sleek private jet waits on the tarmac – the same one that's carried the Woodland family to ski trips in Aspen and summer holidays in the Hamptons. Now it represents something entirely different: escape, salvation, the chance to outrun their carefully constructed house of cards as it finally collapses.
"Where do we go?" Amber asks as Nate brings the Porsche to a stop beside the plane's stairs. Her bare feet still ache, blood dried in delicate patterns that look almost like art against her skin. "What's the plan?"
Nate finally turns to face her fully, and for a moment she sees past his protective rage to the boy who kissed her under stadium lights after a winning game. "Europe. London first, then Paris, Milan – anywhere they won't think to look for us." His hand finds hers, squeezing gently. "We disappear until Rodriguez's case falls apart, until your father's lawyers work their magic, until it's safe to come home."
"And if it's never safe?" The question hangs between them like smoke.
"Then we build a new home." His voice carries absolute certainty now. "Somewhere without secrets or shadows or carefully maintained lies. Just you and me, princess. The way it was supposed to be."
The jet's engines start to whir as Amber looks back toward Riverside one last time. Somewhere in that perfect town, Susan's probably in handcuffs. Her father's being processed at the station. Their carefully constructed world is burning to ashes.
But maybe, she thinks as Nate leads her toward the plane's steps, that's exactly what needed to happen. Maybe you can't build something real until all the lies have been cleared away.
After all, isn't that what Jake finally understood? What Hannah died trying to expose? What Emily and Rachel and all the others paid the price for learning too late?
Amber's feet leave crimson prints on each step as they climb – her last mark on the world she's leaving behind. Ahead of them lies uncertainty, reinvention, the chance to become people worthy of survival.
Behind them, Riverside Heights continues its carefully choreographed dance of power and privilege, even as its foundations crack beneath the weight of long-buried truths.
But they won't be there to see it fall.
They'll be too busy rising from its ashes.
