Max smiled sheepishly. *"Heyyyy…"*
*"How did you—wait, did you tell your mum?"*
*"No,"* Max admitted, brushing her braids behind her ear. *"But I couldn't miss this. I'll sneak back in before she notices. Relax."*
Jane was caught between worry and awe. *"Girl, this is crazy... but I'm glad you're here."*
Max grinned. *"I just want to have fun tonight."*
She walked straight to the drinks table. The first cup was sweet, second stronger. Third one hit her head. By the fourth, she was laughing too loud, dancing without rhythm, moving through fog.
Meanwhile, back at home…
Angela came in and dropped her bag by the stairs. The house was too quiet. She glanced up and called:
*"Maxwell!"*
No answer.
*"Michael?"*
Nothing.
Annoyed, she climbed up, knocked on Michael's door. He pulled off one headphone.
**"Where's Max?" she asked.
Michael yawned. *"She's probably sleeping in her room."*
But when they opened her door, it was empty.
Angela's face froze.
*"Michael... this room is EMPTY."*
Panic turned to fury. They searched the house. Nothing. Not even a trace.
Angela was livid. *"She actually went to that party after everything?"*
Michael was speechless, trying to piece it all together.
Angela grabbed her phone and dialed her husband.
*"David, you daughter has done it again"* Angela's voice trembled, not from fear—but fury barely held together.
*"What do you mean?"* he asked, sounding distracted.
*"I mean I've checked every room in this house, including the bathrooms and even the pantry, and Max is not here."*
There was a pause. Then: *"I'm on my way, but I have to make a quick stop—"*
*"Stop what, David?"* she snapped. *"Your daughter lied. Lied to my face this morning. Said she was *sick*. I let her stay home because I thought she was still shaken from yesterday, and now she's at a party!"*
David sighed, voice flat. *"Angela, calm down—"*
*"No. Don't tell me to calm down. You didn't see her this morning. Acting like a child, cuddling into my bed, faking a headache like she was five again. I gave her a pass, David.
David was quiet for a beat. Then, more gently: *"You're sure she's not just with Micheal ?"*
*"I asked Michael. I woke him up. She's not with anyone. She *snuck out.*"*
Another pause. Then: *"I'm coming."*
Angela didn't wait. She was already grabbing her keys. *"Michael. Let's go."*
He followed silently, still half-awake, guilt pressing on his chest. He should've known. He should've checked.
The ride to Jade's was anything but quiet.
Angela drove like the steering wheel owed her an apology. Her lips moved non-stop—words tumbling out like bullets.
*"She thinks this is a joke. She thinks being the last born means no rules apply. No responsibility. That girl has been spoiled rotten. And I swear, if she's even *holding* a drink tonight—"*
Michael kept his eyes on the road. He wanted to say something. That Max was hurting. That the salon incident humiliated her more than anyone realized. That maybe she wasn't just being reckless—maybe she just needed to feel *normal* again.
But Angela wouldn't hear that tonight.
*"And don't defend her, Michael,"* she snapped. *"Not this time. I mean it."*
Meanwhile, inside the party...
The music pulsed low and steady, bass crawling through the floorboards. Lights flickered, people laughed and danced in swirls of perfume and heat.
Max sat on a couch near the back patio, a red plastic cup in hand. Her eyes were dreamy, half-closed. Her cheeks flushed.
Nick leaned close, voice gentle. *"You okay?"*
*"Yeah,"* she giggled. *"Just... floating. Not drunk. Just... floating."*
*"That's called tipsy, Max."* His tone was amused, but protective.
They'd always been like this—close but hesitant. Year 5 friends turned almost-something. He always stayed near when things felt off.
Outside, a pair of headlights beamed through the street.
Angela's car.
Max didn't notice. But Nick did.
Angela stepped out first, slamming the door behind her.
She stormed two steps forward before Michael grabbed her arm.
*"Mum. Don't cause a scene. Let me find her first."*
Angela's chest heaved. She looked ready to explode.
*"Five minutes."* Her voice was ice. *"Then I'm going in myself."*
Michael nodded and walked toward the house, bracing himself.
Inside, the music thumped on. Max laughed again—oblivious to the storm waiting at the door.
Inside, the party was wild. Bodies moved to the beat, lights flickered red and blue, and the scent of perfume, sweat, and spiked punch filled the air.
He weaved through the crowd, head on a swivel, ignoring the people who shouted his name or tried to drag him into conversations.
Finally, he spotted her—near the back patio, sitting with Jane and Nick, laughing over something dumb. Max's cheeks were flushed, her eyes a little too glossy, her voice a touch too loud.
She had a half-empty cup in her hand. She looked... happy. Carefree. But not okay.
Michael walked up and crouched beside her.
*"Hey."*
Max blinked, surprised. *"Michael? What are you doing here?"*
*"You're serious?"* His voice was quiet, but firm. *"You think Mum wouldn't find out?"*
Max's smile faded slowly. She sat back.
Nick stood to the side, tension in his jaw. Jane muttered something and stepped away to give them space.
Michael looked at his sister, really looked at her. She was trying to act normal, but her fingers trembled slightly around her cup.
*"Max… she's outside. In the car. Boiling."*
Max's stomach sank.
*"You need to come now."*
She looked away, suddenly quiet. Then, in a barely-there whisper, *"I just wanted one night."*
Michael's expression softened—but only slightly.
He understood. He *did*. But that didn't change the fact that their mum was outside in full-blown rage mode.
He sighed, stood, and held out his hand.
*"You'll have other nights, Max. But if you don't come now, she'll drag you out herself. In front of everyone."*
That hit. Max's throat tightened. The thought of her mum marching into Jade's house, shouting in front of her friends, pulling her out like a toddler—it was enough to shake the buzz from her bones.
She glanced at Nick, as if searching for something—backup, maybe.
But even he just gave her a quiet nod. *You have to go.*
Max exhaled hard and pushed the cup away like it burned. She took Michael's hand and stood slowly. Her legs were wobbly, but she steadied herself.
*"Okay,"* she whispered.
Michael didn't let go of her hand as they made their way out. Not once.
Outside, the second Angela saw her, she opened the car door.
No yelling. No drama. Just that look.
That look that cut deeper than any words.
Max slid into the back seat, avoiding her mother's eyes.
The silence in the car was louder than the music they left behind.
And Max felt every second of it.
Angela turned to Michael.
*"You—next time, wake up and act like the older one."* Then to the car.
The drive home was suffocating. Angela yelled the *entire* way.
*"Disgrace! In front of the whole street! Did you drink?! You drank?! Max, you've never embarrassed me like this before!"*
Max didn't respond. She leaned her head on the window, tears burning her eyes.
Michael sat stiff in the front seat, staring straight ahead.
The silence in Max's chest was louder than the shouting outside it.
And somehow… that was worse.
Angela's grip on the steering wheel tightened as Max snapped,
*"I only took a little! Just one cup!"*
Angela's voice rose with pure disbelief.
*"You are drunk, aren't you?"*
Max blinked hard, offended and defensive all at once.
*"No! I'm not drunk! Why do you always assume the worst of me?"*
Angela turned in her seat, eyes blazing.
*"Because I know what a tipsy girl looks like! Your eyes are glossy, your voice is loud, and you're shaking. So don't insult my intelligence, Maxwell!"*
Michael tried to cut in.
*"Mum, calm—"*
*"No, Michael. She wants to be grown? Let's talk grown!"* Angela fired back, not breaking eye contact with Max.
*"Sneaking out. Drinking. Lying. What next, Max? You think being 18 makes you a woman? You think womanhood is spiked punch and fake lashes at some loud party?"*
Max clenched her fists.
*"I just wanted to go out for once without begging like I'm five!"*
Angela was fuming.
*"So you lie to my face to prove a point? I should be thanking God nothing happened to you tonight!"*
Max's voice cracked as she yelled,
*"Nothing was going to happen! I was with my friends! I just wanted to breathe, Mum!"*
Angela's silence was sharp. Then, coldly,
*"You lost that freedom the moment you chose lies over respect."*
Max stared out the window, her throat tight with unshed tears.
Angela's final words before they pulled into the estate hit like a stone:
*"You are grounded. Until further notice."*
And Max said nothing.
Because there was nothing left to say.
Max couldn't hold it anymore.
*"It's always grounding with you!"* she yelled, voice high with frustration.
*"I was already grounded! Now what? I'm double grounded or what? You act like it's jail!"*
Angela's head snapped toward her. *"Mind your tone, Maxwell!"*
But Max kept going. Her chest heaved, eyes watery and wild.
*"I'm tired of being treated like a baby! You don't do this to Martin, or Michael, or Martha—just me! Because I'm the girl, right? The fragile last born that can't breathe without permission?"*
Angela gripped the steering wheel like it had personally offended her.
*"You sneak out. You lie. You drink—"*
Michael quickly cut in from the backseat. *"Mum, please. She's tipsy. It's the alcohol talking—"*
Angela shot him a glare through the mirror.
*"And that makes it better? She's not a baby, remember? She's grown. And drunk!"*
Max's face twisted. *"I'm not drunk!" Even if I was in old enough to drink now "
But her voice wobbled, giving her away.
The car finally turned into their driveway.
And there he was— *David.*
Leaning against the car, arms folded, expression unreadable. The porch light cast shadows on his face.
Angela killed the engine. The silence was deafening.
*"Perfect,"* she muttered. *"Let's all enjoy this family reunion."*
Max shrank a little, suddenly sober. Michael quietly unbuckled and sighed.
Angela stepped out first, slamming the door harder than needed.
Max stayed frozen in her seat, heart pounding as her father's eyes locked on hers.
This was only the beginning.
He stood by the door, arms folded, face unreadable. Not shouting. Not pacing. Just... still.
That stillness scared her more than her mum's yelling ever could.
Angela slammed the car door and stormed past without a word. Michael looked at Max, unsure if he should help. She waved him off weakly and stepped out on her own.
Her legs were wobbly. The cool night air bit at her skin. The alcohol was still in her blood, but the shame sobered her quicker than any water could.
She couldn't look up.
She couldn't meet his eyes.
She had never wanted to disappoint him.
But tonight… she had. Completely.
*"Maxwell."* His voice. Sharp. Low. Steady.
She stopped moving. Still couldn't look up.
*"So this is what you've become?"*
*"A liar. A sneak. A drunk?"*
She flinched. The word *drunk* echoed too loud.
*"Dad, I'm not—"*
*"Not what?"* he cut in. *"Not the daughter I raised? Because that's exactly how it looks tonight."*
Her throat tightened. Eyes burned. She looked at the floor.
*Say something. Just say something.*
But she couldn't. Her chest was too full — with guilt, confusion, and something else she couldn't name.
Angela came back outside, arms crossed, face cold.
*"She's tipsy. Not drunk?"* she scoffed.
*"Tell your father how you 'only had a little,' Maxwell."*
Max's voice cracked as she mumbled, *"It wasn't even that much…"*
*"Because you're eighteen now?"* Angela snapped. *"So you think you can start drinking and lying? You lied to my face. You looked me in the eye and said you were sick. Do you know how dangerous what you did was?"*
Max finally snapped.
*"I was already grounded! Now what—double grounded?"*
Angela's brows shot up.
*"Grounded isn't your problem. Your problem is you don't listen. You think being the last born gives you special rights. Let me make it clear—it doesn't."*
Michael tried to step in.
*"Mum, Dad—just calm down. It's the alcohol. She's not thinking straight."*
But David's voice boomed.
*"She had enough thought to sneak out and find a party. She's thinking just fine."*
That hurt.
Max finally looked up. Her father's face was hard—bitterly disappointed. Not angry. Not cruel. Just… broken.
And that made her stomach twist.
*"I told you no,"* he continued, voice lower now. *"Your mother told you no. That should've been the end of it. But you had to disobey us. For what?"* He shook his head. *"Do you even understand how reckless you were?"*
Max couldn't answer. The lump in her throat was too big.
She turned to go inside, eyes stinging.
*"Get inside,"* David muttered.
Max didn't wait to be told twice. She walked past him, into the house. Silent. Heavy.
Her mum followed behind, muttering, *"Grounded. No phone. No going out. And no more pretending."*
Max disappeared upstairs.
And for the first time in a long time—
*she didn't feel like anybody's little girl anymore. Just a mistake.*
Upstairs, Max slammed her door shut—but not too loud. She didn't want to spark another round. Her hands shook as she locked it behind her. Her chest felt tight, her throat dry, the taste of alcohol still clinging to the back of her tongue.
She stood there in the dark for a few seconds, just breathing. Not crying. Not yet.
Then her legs gave in. She slid to the floor, back against the door.
*Everything hurt.*
Her head. Her pride. Her heart.
She didn't know what stung worse—her dad's voice, so full of disappointment, or her mum's face, like she'd just committed a crime.
The light from her phone glowed faintly on the bed. Somehow, Michael had slipped it into her hoodie pocket before she went upstairs. She didn't even notice.
A single notification blinked.
*Jane: "Hey… are you okay?"*
Max stared at it. Then slowly unlocked her phone.
*Max:*
*I'm grounded. For life maybe. They're so mad.*
*I messed everything up.*
Jane replied almost instantly.
*Jane:*
*You didn't mess everything up. You just… snapped. It happens.*
*They'll get over it.*
*Eventually.*
Max bit her lip. Tears finally welled in her eyes.
*Max:*
*My dad didn't even shout like that. He just looked at me like I wasn't his daughter anymore.*
*I couldn't even look at him.*
She wiped her eyes quickly, in case someone barged in. She didn't even know why.
*Jane:*
*Max… you're still you. That won't change. You're just hurting.*
*And tbh, they're hurting too.*
Max locked her phone and let her head fall back against the wood.
She wanted to scream.
She wanted to cry.
She wanted to go back to before she said yes to the party.
Instead, she sat in silence—alone in the dark, replaying everything.
*And for the first time, the fun didn't feel worth it.*
She didn't know how long she sat there—on the floor, curled into herself, chest tight with regret.
The house was quiet now. Her parents downstairs. Michael probably in his room, wide awake, maybe still mad… or maybe just tired of being in the middle.
Max had never felt this small. Not even when Madam Erin yelled at her in front of a salon full of strangers. Not even when her mum dragged her out of Jade's party like she was some runaway child.
This? This was worse.
Because now she knew she *crossed a line* she couldn't uncross.
Because now, her dad couldn't even look at her.
And she couldn't look at herself either.
She slowly climbed into bed, pulling the sheets over her head—not because she was cold, but because she didn't want to be seen.
Not by her family.
Not by her friends.
Not even by herself.
*This was supposed to be one night of freedom. One night to feel alive.*
But it ended in silence.
In shouting.
In shame.
And deep down, Max knew…
*Tomorrow would be worse.*
*End of Chapter 2.*
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