CHAPTER 160

**WINTER**

The drive to Claire’s house is silent—

I grind my teeth, forcing Zion from my mind, hating that he’s even there to begin with. He shouldn’t be.

Not after everything.

But his voice lingers, stubborn and unwelcome.

"Please."

"Can we talk?"

Talk?

About what?

What more does he want?

What more could he possibly have to say?

He apologized.

Fine. Great. Fantastic.

That should be enough.

So why does he still want more?

And why, despite every ounce of self-respect I have left, do I still care?

Why does a part of me still want to hear it?

I clench my jaw, hating the way my stomach churns, the way my chest clenches like it’s trying to suffocate me.

But—

The way he looked at me—so damn wrecked—

Like it matters now.

Too little.

Way too late.

I tell myself I don’t care.

That his regret isn’t my problem.

That I don’t owe him anything--not my forgiveness, not my time, not even the smallest crack of sympathy.

And yet, here I am—still thinking about him. And that? That infuriates me.

But the worst part? The part that makes my blood boil?

I still care.

Even when I don’t want to.

Some pathetic, buried piece of me still wonders if hearing him out would make a difference.

No.

It wouldn’t.

I tighten my grip on my sleeves, my nails digging into my palms. I refuse to be that stupid, naive girl ever again. I refuse to give him the satisfaction.

Regret doesn’t change the past.

It doesn’t heal the wounds or erase the nights I spent falling apart, choking on tears he’ll never know about.

Claire hums softly to the low music playing through her speakers, but I know she's just waiting for the right moment to say something.

Ariel sits beside me in the backseat, staring out the window, fingers absently toying with the hem of her hoodie.

Claire pulls into her driveway, cutting the engine.

"Well, that was officially the most exhausting school day we didn't even finish," she mutters, stretching her arms before turning to face us.

"And I, for one, vote that we spend the rest of it doing absolutely nothing productive."

Ariel hums noncommittally, still twirling the hem of her hoodie between her fingers. I don't say anything either.

Just stare down at my lap, willing my brain to shut up.

Claire, tapping her fingers against the wheel.

"You know, I expected a little more enthusiasm. A 'thank you, Claire, for rescuing us from Zion and his royal band of brainless morons.' But no. Just silence. Like I'm your unpaid Uber driver. At least they get tips."

Silence.

"Honestly, the lack of appreciation is staggering," shaking her head as she reaches for the door handle.

"Come on, before I start feeling like an actual chauffeur." She throws the car into park and unbuckles.

We climb out of the car, the afternoon sun warm against my skin. Ariel hesitates a second longer, glancing around like she's waiting for something. Or someone.

Claire catches it, too.

"Relax, Ari. It's not like I'm throwing you to the wolves. And if you're stressing about Zion and his pack of royal pains, don't bother. They're probably off somewhere admiring their reflections-or, who knows, maybe even in class for once."

Claire catches my gaze.

"And you-stop giving mental real estate to a guy who doesn't even pay rent."

I huff, crossing my arms. "I'm not thinking-"

Claire snorts.

"Yeah, and I'm the Queen of England."

Claire sighs dramatically.

"We literally ditched college for some much-needed girl time, and you two look like you just attended your own funerals." She shakes her head.

"Can we please, for the love of all things unhealthy and deep-fried, forget the last hour and focus on what really matters-mocking the life choices of the rich and ridiculous?"

Ariel lets out a small snort, finally loosening up. "I mean... when you put it that way, it does sound like a noble cause."

I sigh, giving her a look. "Fine."

Claire leads the way up the driveway, her boots clicking against the pavement. I follow, stuffing my hands into my sleeves.

But Ariel doesn't move.

I glance back to see her standing frozen a few steps behind, staring down at her phone.

Claire notices, too, stopping just before the door.

"Ari?" She tilts her head.

"Are we waiting for a sign from the heavens, or...?"

Ariel blinks, then quickly locks her screen, shoving the phone into her hoodie pocket.

"No. I'm coming."

Claire and I exchange a look.

"Ari, seriously. What's up?"

Ariel blinks, then shakes her head quickly.

"Nothing. I was, um..." She lets out a small, awkward chuckle before smacking her forehead.

"Just overthinking everything that just happened, that's all. No big deal. Now, forget me."

She shifts her focus to me instead, her voice softer. "Are you okay?"

I open my mouth to answer, but the words don't come.

Claire groans.

"Alright, new rule—no one gets to be sad today. Period."

I manage a small smile and nod.

I’ll try.

Ariel cracks a tiny smile, the corners of her mouth twitching just a bit.

"Alright, we're getting somewhere," she announces.

"Now, let's go. We have serious discussions to get to like ranking the Royal Crew from 'mildly tolerable' to 'needs to be launched into deep space. No return ticket." "

With that, Claire pushes open the front door and strides inside, leaving Ariel and me with no choice but to follow.

The scent of vanilla candles and faint traces of perfume cling to the air as we step into the house. Claire doesn't slow down, leading us straight past the living room, through the hallway, and up the stairs.

Claire throws open her bedroom door and spins on her heel, blocking the entrance with a dramatic flourish.

"Alright, listen up, sad sacks," she declares, hands on her hips, standing like she's about to deliver a TED Talk on emotional recovery.

"We have officially ditched college for the day, which means this is a drama-free zone. That means no moping, no brooding."

She eyes both of us like she's waiting for an argument.

Ariel mutters something under her breath, and I cross my arms, unimpressed.

"Today is not just any day. Today is an Official Emergency Mental Health Day, proudly sponsored by the 'Screw Feelings, Let's Eat Junk Food' foundation-also known as me, your fearless leader and emotional support guru," Claire announces, striking a dramatic pose.

She pauses, letting the words settle, then grins.

"Oh, and most importantly-we are going to roast the Royal Crew so hard they'd need a fire extinguisher to recover."

She spreads her arms wide, waiting for applause.

Nothing.

Claire blinks. Then, exhales dramatically.

"Wow. Riveting response, guys. Truly, I feel the warmth of our friendship radiating through the air."

I shoot her a look. "Claire-"

"I just made a passionate speech about our sacred duty to roast dumbass boys, and I get nothing. Not even a sarcastic slow clap."

Ariel smiles, shaking her head.

"Sorry. We'll try to be more enthusiastic."

"Damn right, you will."

Claire watches me for a second, then sighs and grabs my hand, squeezing it tight.

"Look, I know your mind is currently doing the whole ‘mental turmoil Olympics,’" she says, her voice softer now.

"And I have no idea what Zion was trying to do—if he was being sincere or if he was just doing that thing where he pretends to have a soul—but I have your back, okay?"

Claire gives my hand one last squeeze before releasing it.

She flops onto the bed, grabbing a bag of chips and tossing it to Ariel, who catches it with an amused shake of her head. I sink onto the plush rug, leaning against the bed frame, exhaling a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

Then Claire's eyes light up like a mad scientist who just discovered a way to turn air into wine.

"Actually, I have something....."

I narrow my eyes as she practically bounces off the bed and heads for her closet.

"Claire..."

She flings open the closet doors, diving inside with a look of pure determination.

"Claire, what are you -"

A triumphant shout erupts from her, and she emerges holding a massive rolled-up poster, her grin practically glowing with mischief.

My jaw drops. "No way. Please tell me that’s not what I think it is."

Claire flashes a devilish smile and wiggles her eyebrows.

"Oh, trust me, it’s even better."

She flicks open the poster, revealing a giant, full-color image of the Royal Crew-Zion and his three pretentious lackeys, staring smugly at us like they just like they stepped out of a cologne ad.

Ariel makes a choking sound.

"Where did you get that?"

"Let's just say some people stress-bake—I prefer to get a little more... creative."

Claire grins, reaching over to grab a set of darts from her nightstand, twirling them between her fingers like she’s preparing for battle.

I stare at the poster, unable to tear my eyes away.

Claire holds it up with a gleam in her eyes, as if she’s about to reveal some top-secret plan.

"Ladies," she says, holding up the darts with a wicked smile, "welcome to 'Face the Dartboard: Royal Pain Edition.'"

Then she winks at me.

"Remember how much stress relief Zion's face gave you last time? Well, consider this an upgrade."

She holds up the darts..

And damn it-I can't help but smile.