Liam had been desperate for acceptance ever since arriving at university. The fraternity on Birch Street wasnāt just a houseāit was a ticket to belonging, status, and power. Heād spent weeks running errands, cleaning up after parties, memorizing names, and smiling through every insult they threw at him.
But tonight felt different.
When he walked into the house, the laughter died down. The older brothers stood in a semicircle, drinks in hand, watching him with a silence that pressed against his chest. The lights were dimmer than usual, shadows clinging to the walls like cobwebs.
āFinal test,ā said one of themāMarcus, the president. He was smiling, but it wasnāt friendly. āIf you want to be one of us, you have to prove you can take it.ā
Before Liam could react, someone grabbed him from behind. The rope was rough as it wound around his wrists, tight enough to bite into his skin. His shirt was yanked upward, and before he could stop them, his jeans were gone too.
The group began to laugh now, but it was sharp, cold, not the usual party banter. Liamās heart raced. This wasnāt just hazingāit felt like a trap.
They forced him into the corner, pressing him against the wall. Someone whispered in his ear, āNo one leaves before the ritualās done.ā
He struggled, but the rope held firm. He wasnāt sure what scared him moreāthe jeering faces in front of him, or the gnawing thought that this was what he had wanted all along.
As the room grew louder, Liam felt something shift in himself. The sting of humiliation, the smell of stale beer, the pulse of fearāit all merged into one sharp thought: he might never come back from this night the same person.
