Kaden Graham Harrison.
His world is home to billionaires, future presidents, models and children of diplomats.
People who had the power to rule the world before they were even born. He can buy himself everything with the snap of his fingers.
Booze...
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"Come on, dude. Get Aleandra a drink," the blonde guy at the table tells his friend, his eyes not leaving my body.
When I first entered this room, the memory of his past actions, a bitter cocktail of cruelty and hurt, still clung to the recesses of my mind. The wounds he inflicted had etched themselves into my heart, and the flames of resentment remained unextinguished. As he stole glances that felt more like possession, I grappled with the complexity of emotions surging within me.
But in my heart, the memory of his hurtful actions was a reminder of my self-worth, a beacon guiding me away from the fire of past torment. So, amidst the mingling emotions and the whirlwind of the party, I chose to stand firm in the knowledge of my own strength. The lure of his gaze could not erase the scars he left behind, nor could it extinguish the fire of my resilience. In that moment, I realize that my presence held power, and I would not allow his sudden attention to make me forget what he has done.
"No, thank you. I won't drink tonight," I say, straightening myself up.
"Oh, you driving?" He raises his eyebrows at me.
"No, just not drinking," I reply, crossing my arms.
"Huh." He huffs, looking like he's a second away from rolling his eyes.
"Why not? You got yourself a man?" He asks after a moment, leaning closer over the table.
My brows furrow, trying not to let any hurt show on my face.
Why did I come back to this place?
"What does this have to do with me not drinking?" I ask, letting out a confused laugh.
"Nothing." He snorts, a dirty grin forming, sending goosebumps across my skin. His two friends join in with laughter and clapping him on the shoulder, as if he just said the funniest thing in the world.
"I'll be back in a moment. I need to use the toilet," I say, standing up from the couch, my lips pursed.
In the bathroom, I stand in front of the mirror and pull the hoodie I have on over my head. It's winter, and even though the temperature is relatively mild outside, my arthritis and inflammation make it much harder for me to stay warm. But inside, with people dancing around and the heat on, it's unbearable with the sweater on.
I fix the fabric of the shirt I'm wearing beneath and smile at the reflection—a familiar and comforting image. Clutched in my hands is Ray's football jersey, a gift he handed me just a few weeks ago. The fabric carries a subtle scent—his cologne and the fresh scent of newly washed clothes.
It reminds me of how much I want to be back in New York, away from these people. Of course, I don't mean Adaeze—god damn it, I love this girl—but I wish I could just put her in a suitcase and take her with me. The only reason I'm back in this house with people who made high school hell for me is that I wanted to prove something. I'm not sure what, but when Em and Adaeze asked if we should go there, I immediately said yes.
