Page 288 of Bad Prince
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Stella
He’s already there when I get to the stadium.
It’s barely past five. The sky is still that soft gray-blue, the kind that feels like the world hasn’t fully decided to wake up yet. The lights over the bleachers hum faintly, casting everything in that dim, almost cinematic glow.
He doesn’t belong here.
And yet… he does.
Designer athletic wear, all dark neutrals, clean lines that somehow still look tailored to his body. The fabric moves when he moves, expensive in a way you can’t fake. His shoulders fill out the zip-up like it was built for him. Hair slightly tousled, that salt at his temples catching the low light.
He looks like he stepped out of a magazine.
Or a movie.
Or a life I’ve never lived.
And then he turns.
Sees me.
And for a second?—
something in his expression shifts.
Not power.
Not control.
Something softer.
“Buenos días, Stella.”
(Good morning, Stella.)
“Morning,” I say, adjusting my ponytail, trying not to feel like I’m suddenly sixteen again.
He looks at the bleachers.
Then back at me.
“Show me.”
We don’t talk much at first.
We just run.
Up.
Down.
Up again.
The rhythm hits fast—breath, step, push, burn.
He doesn’t fall behind.
