George’s POV

The music was too loud, the lights too dim, and the crowd too familiar.

As soon as I stepped into the Green House, a wave of heat and perfume hit me in the face, followed closely by cheers and slaps on the back. I hated it already. The living room pulsed with bass, and people moved like shadows—laughing, drinking, pretending to enjoy themselves. I offered a nod here and there, a half-smile when required, but my mind was miles away.

Piers was already somewhere deep in the crowd, probably flirting or showing off. He had a gift for making himself the center of attention. I had a gift for slipping through it. Even though this party had been partly organized in my name—the “Captain’s Bash,” they called it—I felt like a stranger wearing his own face.

I walked past the drinks table, ignored the extended cups, ignored the giggling girls who tried too hard to make eye contact. I wasn’t interested in any of them. I wasn’t interested in this. My date with Stacie had been canceled, my week had been exhausting, and now I was stuck here pretending to enjoy a celebration I had never wanted in the first place.

My eyes scanned the room lazily, more out of habit than curiosity—until they stopped.

There, near the far end of the living room, standing awkwardly near a wall, was a girl I’d never seen before.

She was... still.

In a house full of motion, she stood like a painting—quiet, grounded, uncertain. Her arms were folded like a shield across her chest, her posture tense, like she didn’t know whether to run or stay. She had on a simple black top and jeans, no overdone makeup or exaggerated gestures. She didn’t seem like she belonged here—and somehow, that made her stand out even more.

Our eyes met.

And for a brief, unexpected moment, the noise around me faded.

Eyeball to eyeball, locked in place. Her gaze wasn’t flirtatious or shy. It was searching. Curious. Like she was trying to figure me out without asking a single question.

Something in me stirred. Not desire. Not attraction. Just... recognition. Like I’d seen that look before—on myself, in the mirror, years ago. The look of someone who watched the world from the sidelines and wondered if they’d ever belong in it.

She looked away first.

The moment passed, but the impact lingered.

I turned away sharply and grabbed a cup off the table—just to have something in my hand, something to distract from the way my chest had tightened without warning. I didn’t know her name. I didn’t know why she was here. But I couldn’t shake her face from my mind.

Piers appeared at my side a few moments later, grinning like a madman. “You actually came. Miracles do happen.”

“I’m leaving in thirty minutes.”

He laughed. “Bro, you say that every time.”

“I mean it this time.”

He followed my gaze as I subtly looked back toward the girl. She was still standing in the same spot, but now she was talking to someone—a friend, probably. Still looked nervous. Still didn’t quite fit.

“You know her?” Piers asked.

“No.”

“You look like you want to know her.”

I shook my head. “Drop it.”

But even as I said it, the thought crossed my mind. Should I go talk to her? Ask her name? Maybe say something casual, like I hadn’t been watching her for the last few minutes?

No.

I shoved the thought out of my head as quickly as it came. That wasn’t me. I didn’t chase. I didn’t entertain curiosity for strangers, especially not strangers with eyes that asked questions I didn’t want to answer.

Besides, someone like her?

She didn’t know what she was looking at. She didn’t know who I was—what I was.

I finished the drink in my hand and let my face fall back into that familiar mask: cold, unreadable, untouchable. That was the George people expected. The one who didn’t care.

Then, out of nowhere, she started walking toward me.

I froze for half a second.

Her steps were hesitant but sure. Every part of her body screamed nervous energy, but she kept coming anyway, closing the distance between us like she’d just made a life-altering decision.

For some reason, I hated that.

I hated that she was brave enough to try.

She stopped in front of me, her voice soft but steady. “Hi.”

I didn’t respond at first. Just stared. Her eyes were clearer up close, wide and brown, full of questions. There was no script in her approach, no fake tone, no overdone effort to impress. Just... real.

Too real.

I clenched my jaw and looked her over once more. One of those quiet girls. Naive, probably. The kind who thinks she can understand a guy like me. The kind who believes there's softness under the stone if she just digs deep enough.

She didn’t know how wrong she was.

“What do you want?” I asked, voice flat.

She blinked. “I just thought… I’d say hi. You looked—”

“I don’t need you to say anything,” I cut her off.

Her brows drew together slightly. “I didn’t mean to—”

“You don’t know me,” I said, my tone turning sharp, cold. “And trust me, you don’t want to.”

She took a half-step back, clearly caught off guard. Still, she held her ground. “I wasn’t trying to bother you.”

“Good,” I said. “Because you’re not even in my class.”

I saw the flicker in her eyes—the sting of the words landing like a slap. She looked like she’d just been shoved into a wall she hadn’t seen coming.

I didn’t care.

Or at least I told myself I didn’t.

She stood there for another breathless second before turning around and walking away, disappearing back into the crowd.

I let out a slow breath and turned away too.

It was better this way.

I didn’t know her, but I saw what was coming in her eyes. Curiosity. Hope. Maybe even the beginning of some story she’d started writing in her head. And I couldn’t allow it. I wouldn’t be someone’s fantasy again. Not after what happened with Tonia. Not when there was still blood on the memory of my trust.

No one got close.

Especially not someone like her.

Even if... for a moment... I had wanted to.