He steps closer, and I catch the faint scent of his cologne—something woodsy and familiar that makes my traitor heart skip. “Chey, we need to talk about what happened at Christmas—”
The elevator lurches violently, cutting off his words. My body pitches forward, and Dylan’s hands shoot out to steady me, gripping my upper arms firmly. For a split second, we’re pressed together, his face inches from mine, his eyes wide with surprise.
Then the elevator shudders to a complete stop, and the lights flicker once, twice, before going out entirely.
“What the—” Dylan’s voice is swallowedby darkness.
A moment later, dim emergency lights click on, casting harsh shadows across his face. The warm, golden man from the party is transformed into something sharper, all angles and intensity.
“Are we stuck?” My voice sounds scared even to my own ears.
“Looks like it.” He releases me slowly, making sure I’m steady before stepping away. “Let me try the emergency button.”
I watch as he presses the red button on the control panel. Nothing happens. No sound, no voice, nothing. He tries again, holding it down longer this time. Still nothing.
“Great,” I mutter, digging in my small clutch for my phone. “Let me call...”
The words die on my lips as I stare at the screen. No service.
Dylan pulls out his phone as well, grimacing at what he sees. “Same. No bars.”
The reality of our situation settles over me like a physical weight. We’re trapped. In a tiny metal box. Suspended who knows how many floors above the ground.
My chest tightens, and suddenly the air seems too thin. The walls of the elevator, already close, appear to inch inward with each breath I take. My hands begin to tremble, and I press them against the cool metal wall behind me to hide them.
“Hey.” Dylan’s voice comes from what seems like far away. “You okay?”
I try to nod, but my head feels disconnected from my body. My breathing grows shallow, coming in quick gasps that don’t seem to bring any oxygen to my lungs.
“Chey,” he says, more firmly this time. “Look at me.”
I force my eyes to focus on his face. In the harsh emergency lighting, his concern is etched in sharp relief.
“You’re having a panic attack,” he says, his voice steady. “Try to slow your breathing. In through your nose, out through your mouth.”
I try to follow his instructions, but the walls keep closing in, and my dress feels like it’s suffocating me.
“I can’t,” I gasp. “I can’t breathe.”
“Yes, you can.” His hands hover near my shoulders, not quite touching. “May I?”
I manage a jerky nod, and he gently guides me to sit on the floor of the elevator, his movements slow and deliberate, like he’s approaching a frightened animal.
“Well, this beats awkward party small talk,” he says, lowering himself to sit beside me. He loosens his tie with one hand, a casual gesture that somehow makes the space feel less formal, less threatening.
I stare at him, my panic momentarily interrupted by confusion.
“Sorry,” he continues, a small smile playing at his lips. “Inappropriate humor is my default setting in emergencies. But seriously, try breathing with me. In...” He demonstrates, taking a deep breath through his nose. “And out.”
Despite myself, I find my breathing starting to match his rhythm.
“There you go,” he encourages. “Much better than passing out on me. Though I have to say, if you were looking for a dramatic exit from the party, getting trapped in an elevator is pretty next-level.”
A strangled sound escapes me—something between a laugh and a hiccup.
“Sorry,” I manage, embarrassment creeping in as my panic subsides slightly. “I don’t usually ... it’s just small spaces.”
“Hey, no apologies needed.” He leans back against the wall, giving me space while still remaining close enough that I don’t feel alone. “Everyone’s afraid of something. Me? I can’t stand spiders. Complete meltdown if one gets anywhere near me. Ask Genna about the bathroom incident of 2010. Actually, don’t. She’s been sworn to secrecy.”
