Page 191 of Ruthless Court

Not noise exactly.

Awareness.

Heads turn.

A woman descends the stairs with a security guard several steps behind her. He isn’t escorting her so much as making sure everyone else stays out of her way.

Stella Cortez.

I recognize her without following a single gossip page.

You would have to live underground not to.

Tall. Dark ponytail. Black fitted jacket over a red Stanford top. Long legs shaped by years of volleyball, not a gym routine designed for photographs.

She moves through the player section without checking a ticket.

Nobody stops her.

The queen bee has arrived.

Only she doesn’t look fake.

She looks capable of folding half this row into carry-on luggage.

Stella reaches my seat and nods toward the empty chair beside me.

“Taken?”

“My roommates couldn’t come.”

“Perfect.”

She sits before anyone can object.

The blonde straightens.

“Stella, we were saving⁠—”

“No, you weren’t.”

Stella doesn’t even look at her.

The conversation dies.

She settles into the chair, crosses one leg over the other, then glances at me.

“Ignore those bitches.”

I blink.

She looks toward the Twizzlers.

“Can I have one?”

I hand her the bag.

“You’re not going to interrogate me first?”