Across the room, Alex laughs at something someone says, his head thrown back, throat exposed. The sound cuts through the music and conversation, finding me like it’s meant for my ears alone. He turns, still smiling, and our eyes lock.
The room seems to recede, the noise fading to a distant hum. I shouldn’t want this. Shouldn’t want him. There are a dozen reasons why this is a terrible idea—his father, our history, the complications of our tangled family ties. But in this moment, with the city lights glittering behind him and his eyes fixed on mine, none of those reasons seem to matter.
15
Alex
THE PARTY I’VE THROWN swells around me, bodies pressed close, voices rising above the music. I scan the room for the hundredth time, eyes finding Vincent across the sea of faces. He’s talking to Ronan, his shoulders tense, spine straight—the posture of someone trying to look relaxed. I know that feeling.
Jess appears in my periphery again, always hovering nearby. Watching her navigate my apartment with familiarity makes my chest tighten with claustrophobia. This was supposed to be my chance to see Vincent outside the club or my father’s suffocating mansion. And now I’m playing host to a party that’s spiraled beyond my control.
Fuck this.
I drain my glass and set it on a nearby table with a loud clank. A few heads turn, but I’m already cutting through the crowd with purpose, bodies parting before me.
Vincent looks up as I approach, relief flashing across his face so quickly I might have imagined it. But I didn’t. I know that look. It’s the same one he used to give me at my father’s drawn-out dinners.
“Need a break?” I ask.
He nods, a slight dip of his chin.
“Come with me.” I reach for his elbow, my fingers closing around the soft fabric of his shirt, feeling his solid warmth. Something inside me settles at the contact, like a compass needle finding north.
I lead Vincent through the apartment toward the back hallway.
“Where are we going?” he asks once we’re in the quieter part of the penthouse.
“Somewhere better.” I guide him past my bedroom toward a door at the end of the hall. “Trust me?”
Vincent hesitates for just a heartbeat before nodding. “Yeah.”
I lead the way up the narrow stairwell. At the top, another door—this one heavier, requiring my shoulder to push it open.
And then we’re outside, the night air hitting us like a tidal wave after the warmth of the apartment. The rooftop stretches before us, empty and private—my secret refuge.
“Fuck,” Vincent breathes, moving past me toward the edge. “This view.”
The city sprawls below us, a glittering tapestry of lights that goes on forever. Up here, the sounds of traffic are distant, the party even more so. Just the wind and our breathing.
I follow him to the glass railing that circles the rooftop, standing close enough that our shoulders brush. Neither of us acknowledges the contact, but neither moves away.
“Your friends seem nice,” Vincent says after a moment. “Especially Ronan. It’s clear he cares about you.”
“Yeah, well. He’s known me since freshman year. Seen me at my worst.”
“And that was…?”
I laugh, the sound carried away by the wind. “Drunk off my ass, trying to climb the clock tower because someone bet me I couldn’t.”
Vincent smiles. “Some things never change. You always did love a challenge.”
“Not all challenges.” I lean against the railing, letting the cold glass press into my forearms. “Some I could do without.”
He doesn’t comment on that, so a comfortable silence settles between us. Below, the city continues its nighttime rhythm—cars flowing like blood cells through veins, windows blinking on and off as lives unfold in countless apartments. Up here, we exist in a bubble of stillness, separate from it all.
“So,” Vincent says finally, “twenty-three.”
I turn to look at him, confused for a moment until I see the way he’s watching me, a small smile playing at his lips.
