Page 106 of Bad Prince
And tonight?
The balance shifted.
My cheeks are on fire before the night even ends.
I don’t wait for them.
I can’t.
Leaving between Kane and Tristan would feel like confirmation — like I’m endorsing whatever narrative the room already decided for me. So I slip out with the volleyball girls when they grab their purses and heels, laughing too loud like we’re just another group leaving a banquet.
Except we’re not.
I feel the eyes on my back the entire walk out.
The air outside is cooler, but it doesn’t help. My skin still feels overheated, like I stepped under a spotlight I didn’t ask for.
Delia loops her arm through mine immediately.
“Don’t read it,” she murmurs.
Too late.
Phones are lighting up like fireworks.
Snapchat screenshots.
Group chats.
Private athlete pages.
Instagram stories already captioned with question marks and side-eyes.
I see one blurry clip — me between them at the table. Another — the dance. Another — the balcony silhouette that looks more intimate than it felt.
My stomach drops.
Soccer girls pass us near the parking lot.
One snickers.
Another whispers something just loud enough to land.
The girls who’ve been eyeing my starting spot don’t say anything directly — they never do — but I feel it anyway. Those tiny invisible blades sliding between my shoulder blades.
Disappointment disguised as curiosity.
Judgment disguised as concern.
I’m furious.
At them.
At the situation.
Mostly at myself.
How did I let this happen?
