The crowd parts. And that’s whenhewalks in.
The memory crashes over me suddenly and sharply.The dim glow of the walkway between dormitories. My throat burning from coughing, a cold glass pressed into my palm, the burn of vodka coating my tongue.
I had looked up then and was met with a pair of dark, unreadable eyes.
Eyes that made my stomach tighten, and my skin prickle with something dangerous.
Those same eyes now lock with mine from across the room.
He had been older than me and completely untouchable. More like a myth among the girls at school, whispered about behind books in the library. But I had never known him.
Now I do.
A voice murmurs beside me, guests in gossipy conversation. “That’s Hayden Herron.”
My chest tightens.
Hayden Herron.
The name coils through me, settling like a weight in my stomach.
His gaze locks onto mine, and suddenly, the noise of the party fades into nothing. The candles flicker, the air thickens, and I feel—no, I know—that something is about to change.
Hayden moves through the room like a shadow, the kind that lingers in doorways and stretches under your bed, the type that you overlook until it’s too late.
I blink, and suddenly he’s in front of me.
“Martine,” he says, low and rough. His eyes are even darker up close. I can see my blond hair reflected in them.
I can barely find my voice, but I do quickly enough to reply in a tartly posh formality, the only way I know, “Mr. Herron.”
A flicker of amusement crosses his face before it vanishes, replaced by something darker. Looking up at him this close is overwhelming. His lashes and hair are a dark blonde, but his eyes are a darker shade of blue. There is no warmth in them, just the stillness of deep water before it drags you under. I find myself studying him, absorbing every detail now that we’re no longer in the haze of that oddly intense first meeting, but here now—face to face.
Before any conversation has a chance to continue, I’m distracted by movement at the grand staircase.
My stomach drops. It’s the grand entrance, and my mother isn’t here.
Just Ford and Dex. And behind them—my father. I’ve never been included in these, as by design, I’m easily forgotten without my mother's attention.
The three of them descend side by side in a display of dominance and pure power.
The hall quiets the murmured conversations, dissolving into silence as all eyes turn toward them. My father carries himself like a king, surveying his kingdom, his expression unreadable, his presence commanding.
Hayden's hand raises to the small of my back, ushering me to turn towards him, but I’m frozen. My eyes locked on my father.
I hate him.
I hate him with every ounce of my being.
I know in my core he murdered my mother, and yet the cold bastard stands tall as if he feels nothing. Not a single crack in his stonelike demeanor. I could scream with rage, shaking from the overwhelming feeling it evokes.
The candles flicker. The chandeliers could sway with the energy vibrating about the room. The scent of the lilies thickens, and my throat constricts. The rage I feel turns to something soverywrong.
I'm ready to scream at Ford. I feel it in my gut that something horrible is about to happen. I have no reason other than the visceral pain in my stomach telling me someone else I love is about to die.
I feel it in me so powerfully, I ready myself to shout—
But then—
