And then finally, he speaks.
“You changed your hair,” he says and it’s quiet, careful.
I meet his eyes. “Yeah,” I say. “I needed a change.”
He doesn’t nod. Doesn’t smirk or tease or ask why.
Just stares. Like he’s remembering something. Or trying not to.
And for one stupid second, I almost ask what he sees.
THIRTY-SIX
The Steele house is packed.
Not just full. Packed.
Bodies everywhere, voices rising and clashing with the music playing through hidden speakers. Laughter rolls across the wide marble foyer and spills into every corner of the ground floor. There’s someone on every stair, every couch, leaning against the frame of every ridiculously tall window. The place feels alive.
And, of course, it looks perfect.
Wreaths hang from every wall sconce. A twelve-foot pine tree, strung with golden lights and cream ribbon, stands in the corner of the grand sitting room, glittering faintly. Every surface shines. A garland wraps around the staircase, with velvet bows tucked between silver baubles.
Waiters in crisp black uniforms move through the crowd, holding trays with glasses of champagne, sparkling cider, and other drinks I can’t identify. There’s even a full buffet set up in the east lounge, under a chandelier dripping in crystals.
“Okay,” Bea mutters, eyes wide as we step through the doors, and pass through security. “This is… absurd.”
“This is the Steeles,” Lilia replies dryly, straightening the strap of her dress. “They don’t do anything half-hearted.”
I barely hear them. The sheer number of people is overwhelming. I don’t even think they’re all students. There aredefinitely some teachers and parents milling around too. Maybe, even press.
“New hair?”
The voice that cuts in is smooth, and curious. We turn to find Christian approaching us, a drink in one hand, the other tucked casually into the pocket of his navy trousers.
He stops a few feet from me, his gaze flicking to my hair.
“Looks good,” he adds, almost offhand.
I nod, smiling faintly. “Thanks. It was overdue.”
“Agreed,” Lilia says, shooting me a smug look.
Christian laughs. “Didn’t peg you for the dramatic makeover type, Ross.”
“Didn’t peg you for the unsolicited commentary type, Ryder.”
He holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Touché.”
Before I can say anything else, another voice cuts in. “Oh god, don’t tell me this is what I’ve walked into.”
Liam. Of course.
He slips in beside Bea with an easy grin and not a hint of shame. His tie is already loose, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar.
Bea groans. “You again?”
“I’m the best part of your evening and you know it.”
