𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓 (ANGEL)
Older. Scary. Silent.
Damon Lars was always lurking in the shadows, a sinister presence that scared me. It would be oblivious for me not to notice him even in the darkest areas. He was there. Maybe invisible to ot...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
GRAYSON MEADOWS
I pulled the car to a smooth stop at the gate and turned my head toward Stella, unable to resist digging into her sudden decision to leave the party. "You're lucky I'm even dropping you off. Now, why did you leave so early?" I asked, my tone tinged with genuine curiosity as she reached for the passenger door handle.
She paused, glancing back at me with that signature eye roll that she seemed to reserve just for me. "It got boring," she said flatly, crossing her arms, "and I'm tired of watching you smirk while you purposely dance with every girl in the room." Her voice carried that familiar bite, but her annoyance was sharper tonight, cutting through the air between us.
Her words intrigued me more than they should have, and for once, I let my curiosity override the usual irritation she inspired. "Why do you care about my love life?" I grinned, leaning a little closer to study her expression.
But then my grin faltered. Stella didn't roll her eyes this time—didn't toss back a snarky remark or laugh me off. No, she just stared at me, her gaze steady and a little too serious. I wouldn't last an hour in the asylum her Father raised her in, the pressure and everything, I don't know how she did it. My parents loved me the way I am, perfect or not.
"It's not a love life," she said, her voice dropping a notch, more grounded. "It's a manwhore lifestyle, and it doesn't suit you, prince." The nickname rolled off her tongue, heavy with sarcasm, but there was something raw in the way she said it. "I don't have time for this," she muttered, stepping out of the car. She adjusted her dress quickly, brushing me off as she headed through the gate and toward the Crist mansion without another glance.
I watched her go, something twisting in my chest. I could've left—should've, really—but instead, I killed the engine and opened my door. I caught up to her just as she was halfway up the driveway, her heels clicking softly against the pavement.
"Why are you following me?" she hissed, spinning around with a glare. "Jaxon and the boys are still at the party. You have zero reason to be here. And Papa Crist already hates you enough for flirting with his wife—don't make it worse. Get out—"
I cut her off, quickening my steps to reach the French doors that Mama Crist always left open. "Relax," I muttered, pulling the door open and motioning for her to follow me inside. The house was silent, the kind of stillness that only came late at night. "Come on, princess." I said, my voice low but steady as I took her hand and started up the stairs.
To my surprise, she didn't fight me right away. Her steps were hesitant, but she followed, her fingers curling slightly in mine. "Ew, where are you taking me?" she whispered, her voice quieter now, her bravado fading just a little. I could feel the tension in her, the slight tremor of nerves she was trying to hide.
I didn't answer, leading her toward the rooftop balcony. The moonlight spilled through the hallway windows, painting silver lines on the walls as we climbed higher. But before we could reach the rooftop, she stopped abruptly, pulling her hand from mine and heading toward the guest room the Crist family had given her.
