CHAPTER 107
WINTER
Cindy’s shoulder slams into mine as she shoves past, her smirk sharp enough to cut. I stiffen but bite back a retort, refusing to give her the reaction she’s clearly fishing for.
Before I can dwell on it, a wave of excited murmurs ripples through the crowd, the energy shifting like static in the air. The buzz is contagious, and before I know it, I’m being swept along, caught in the current of bodies pressing forward.
Claire’s hand finds my arm, her grip firm as she tugs me closer, guiding us through the sea of glittering outfits and bold makeup toward the shadowy path leading into the woods.
We find a quiet spot near the edge of the party, where the shadows stretch long enough to offer a bit of privacy from the growing crowd.
I try to blend in, but it’s painfully obvious how much I don't belong here.
The few beers I’ve had leave a pleasant warmth in my chest, but the night air is still sharp against my skin. I pull my hoodie tighter, hoping it will help, though it only makes me feel more out of sync with the scene around me.
The other girls look effortlessly stunning—flowy dresses, tiny shorts, and stylish tops designed to turn heads. Meanwhile, I’m here in my worn jeans, a plain T-shirt, and my favorite trainers. Fashion’s never been my thing. I’ve always valued comfort over attention, and I’m not about to change that just to fit in tonight.
The noise of the crowd swells, and it's impossible to miss the moment Zion and his entourage emerge.
Ronald, Clark, and a few other likely members of the football team are behind him like loyal disciples. But it's their appearance that makes me do a double take.
"What the?" I stifle a laugh with my hand, trying to keep it together.
They're wearing crowns. Actual crowns. As if being called the "Royal Crew" wasn't pretentious enough, they've decided to take it literally.
I expected the usual testosterone-driven chaos tonight, but the Crowns are taking it to a whole new level of ridiculous.
Zion, as always, looks completely unbothered—his face a perfect mask of indifference despite the shouts and cheers echoing his name. He moves with that signature, overconfident stride, leading his crew straight to the heart of the crowd like he owns the place.
Clark’s gaze sweeps over the party until it locks onto me. His wide, goofy grin is disarming enough to chip away at the irritation simmering just beneath my skin.
But then my eyes shift to Zion. He’s already glaring in my direction, his usual brooding intensity locked and loaded.
What a jerk.
"Royal subjects!" a voice bellows, cutting through the chatter and laughter. The crowd erupts in cheers, their excitement vibrating through the woods.
Royal subjects? Really? Do they actually like being called that?
I suppress the urge to roll my eyes.
"Tonight, we’re playing a game," he declares, sounding overly confident.
"Yeah, let’s do this!" someone yells, and I shake my head, unable to hide my disbelief.
They behave like sheep, eager to impress these so-called Royals, ready to join in whatever absurdity they suggest.
"As you all know, I’m Carl—not that any of you could possibly forget," he says, flashing a smug grin. His gaze flickers toward me, lingering just long enough for a cocky wink before returning to the crowd.
Great. Carl. The one Claire wouldn’t stop talking about. I feel her nudge me with a smirk and raised brows as if to say,
*See? I told you he’s into you.*
"I know you're all dying to hear what the game is," Carl continues, stepping forward with that same cocky grin, holding up a jar filled with slips of paper.
"Inside this jar, we've got names-girl names, of course. None of us swing the other way, after all. The lucky girl whose name gets pulled out gets a date with one of us. Tonight. Romantic, right?"
The crowd erupts with squeals and cheers, a few girls even clasping their hands together, chanting,
"OMG!"
The excited shrieks from the crowd are almost deafening, a wave of high-pitched voices overlapping in a frenzy of eager anticipation.
"Pick me, pick me!" A girl yells, practically bouncing on her toes, hands waving frantically in the air like she's trying to catch his attention.
"No pick me!" Another cry
Are they serious?
The guy leading the game turns to Clark with a mischievous grin, clearly enjoying the attention.
"Clark, my man...you're up first," he announces, his voice dripping with playful anticipation.
Clark beams, his excitement obvious. "Hell yeah!" he shouts, plunging his hand into the jar with dramatic flair. The crowd falls silent, every girl holding her breath, desperate to hear their name called.
I can't help but roll my eyes, trying to stifle a groan. This is beyond ridiculous.
Clark unfolds the paper slowly, a knowing smile creeping across his face. "Well, well... Sophie Lauren."
A shriek of excitement breaks the tension as a petite blonde practically launches herself at Clark. He catches her with ease, one arm smoothly wrapping around her waist like he's done this a thousand times. The crowd explodes in excitement, but I'm standing there, shaking my head at the absurdity of it all. As much as I want to leave, something keeps me rooted in place, watching the spectacle unfold.
"God, this is so stupid," Claire mutters beside me, disgust dripping from her words.
"These girls think they're getting a date? Pl-eeease. They're too dumb to realize what's happening. It's not about romance, Winter. It's about getting into their pants."
I nod, partly listening, my eyes still on the scene unfolding.
"Next up… Zion!" Carl calls out, grinning as he gestures for Zion to step forward.
Zion hesitates, fixing Carl with a piercing stare. The tension thickens until he finally steps up, moving with purpose, his jaw clenched tight.
I’m so drawn in by the storm brewing in Zion’s expression that I nearly miss Carl pulling the next slip.
"Winter..."
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