CHAPTER 133
**ZION**
“Not exactly your best look either,” I say, eyes narrowing on the bruises littering her face.
“Cindy and her friends will have a field day with that. But hey, if you’re looking to be their next source of entertainment, be my guest.”
The words slip out before I can stop them, and the second they do, regret slams into me like a punch to the gut. They taste bitter, wrong, like poison on my tongue. I want to take them back, swallow them whole, erase them from existence.
But it’s too late.
I see it—the flicker of hurt in her eyes before she masks it, burying it beneath that forced indifference. But I know better. I know I hit a nerve, and that realization makes my chest tighten, makes me want to kick myself for being so fucking careless.
Still, I won’t admit it. Won’t let her see the guilt clawing at me, the way it sits heavy in my gut. I keep my expression cold, unreadable, like I don’t care. Because I shouldn’t care, right?
And yet, my gaze drifts to the bruises painting her skin, the small cuts that haven’t even begun to fade. They stand out like a beacon, an open invitation for whispers and judgment. The whole damn college will be watching, waiting for the story to unfold.
And as much as I try to push her away, I don’t want that for her. I never did.
She’ll have to retell that fucking story over and over, and I know the lies already being spun by everyone who saw us bolt from that party.
Everyone noticed our absence the second we left.
But that’s not my problem, right?
I don’t give a fuck.
I don’t care.
That’s what I keep telling myself—what I need to believe.
So why the hell do I have to keep repeating it like a goddamn mantra?
Snowflake’s eyes narrow on mine, and I swear I can almost see steam coming out of her ears. But there’s something else in them too—hurt.
The kind that stabs deeper than I expected. I look down at my pancakes, shoving a forkful into my mouth just to have something else to focus on. Best to keep my mouth shut for now.
She doesn’t make it easy, though.
"Don't act like you care about my well-being. I’m sure you shared every disgusting detail with Cindy," she snaps, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
"And of course, she probably went straight to her little minions to fill them in on all the ‘fun’ parts. And then, as always, they’ll come running to ‘take care’ of me, just like you always tell them to, right?"
I feel the tension crackle in the air between us, and my jaw tightens.
Mom’s eyes dart between the two of us, clearly lost and trying to understand what Snowflake means.
William’s still buried in his newspaper, completely detached—like a man who’s become numb to the fact that his daughter is still reeling from what happened to her.
But if that’s the case, then why the hell did he lose his mind when Ethan escaped? He cares about her—I saw it in his eyes last night. There was real fury there, real fear.
So why the fuck doesn’t he show it now?
Why is he sitting there, flipping through his damn newspaper like this is just another normal Friday morning? Like his daughter didn’t just go through hell.
“What happened, Zion?” Snowflake’s voice breaks through my thoughts, her words like a challenge.
Snowflake slams her fork into her pancake with more force than necessary, eyes still locked on mine, daring me to respond, before putting the piece into her mouth with a fierce glare.
“Cat got your tongue?”
No, Snowflake, the cat didn’t get my tongue. I’m just too busy enjoying this family bonding time,
Soaking in the heartwarming atmosphere.
I think sarcastically.
“No sharp comebacks? No more cruel words?” she taunts, tilting her head with a smirk.
“That’s a first.”
I exhale sharply, gripping my fork tighter.
“Snowflake,” I mutter, my voice edged with frustration.
“I’m not in the mood for this.” I push my plate away and level her with a look.
“But if you’re so eager to get back out there, just picture the shit Cindy and her friends are already spewing about you. You really wanna walk into that mess right now?”
Her eyes lock onto mine, flames of anger dancing behind them.
“Careful, Zion,” she sneers, her voice dripping with venom.
“Isn’t she your girlfriend?”
“You’re seeing Cindy, Arthur’s daughter?” Mum asks, her voice laced with disbelief.
“I mean... she’s cute and all, but she’s a real bitch.”
I roll my eyes, barely holding back my annoyance.
“No, Mom, I’m not seeing Cindy. She was a fuck buddy. A means to an end.”
“Zion Royal!” Mom gasps, her voice a mix of horror and disbelief. Her eyes widen as if she can’t believe what just came out of my mouth, one hand flying to her chest like I’ve physically struck her. “I did not raise you to speak like that!”
But before I can even think of a response, Winter cuts in, her voice sharp and dripping with venom.
“And she’s got plenty of detailed stories about your ‘end..She’s seen it enough times.”
Jenny chokes on her coffee, coughing violently as she grabs a napkin, eyes wide with shock.
William exhales a long, heavy sigh, the kind that says he’s too damn tired for this. His hands tighten around the newspaper, the crisp pages crumpling slightly under his grip, but he doesn’t look up.
Not yet.
A smirk tugs at the corner of my lips, but I force it to stretch into something more smug.
“Jealous, Snowflake? If you’re interested, I could show you my ‘end’ anytime. I’m sure you’d appreciate the... firsthand experience.”
That did it
William slams his hand on the table, the force of it rattling the dishes. His eyes darken with rage, and for a moment, I swear I can see the fury rising within him, his whole body tensing.
“That’s my daughter you’re talking to!” he growls, his voice thick with danger, like a warning shot across the bow.
“Your sister. I can’t believe you’d disrespect her like that. How dare you speak to her like that after everything that’s happened?
Do you think this is some kind of joke? She’s been through hell, and you—you sit there throwing out filthy jokes like it’s nothing?”
His chest rises and falls sharply, his nostrils flaring as he struggles to keep his emotions in check.
Before he can finish, Mom places a calming hand on his shoulder, her touch firm but gentle. He looks at her, his face tight with anger, but after a long moment, he huffs in frustration and stands up, storming out of the room.
Mom’s glare intensifies, her disappointment almost palpable in the air.
“Zion, you’re being foul. Have some damn respect.” Her voice shakes with frustration, but there's an underlying sadness in it like she’s given up hope on the person I could be.
“What the hell happened to you? Is this what you’ve become?
She takes a deep breath, trying to keep her composure.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately. You used to be better than this. But clearly, that’s not who you are anymore, is it?”
I push my chair back with a sharp scrape, my temper flaring.
“Whatever,” I mutter, stuffing another bite of pancakes into my mouth, chewing with more force than necessary. The syrup is too sweet, the texture suddenly too thick, but I keep eating anyway—anything to keep myself from saying something worse.
I don’t care what they think. I don’t.
My grip tightens around the fork as I stab at another piece, my jaw clenching as the silence stretches. My eyes flicker to Snowflake, but she doesn’t even look at me. Not once.
And for some reason, that bothers me more than it should.
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