Lola’s POV

Flint’s voice was sharp when he spoke, the kind that cut through music and chatter all at once.

“What are you doing here, Lola?”

He stood only a few feet away, but the anger in his tone made it feel closer. His eyes were hard, filled with disbelief and frustration.

“Do you have any idea how this looks? You were supposed to go home, not spend the night in a club.”

I met his gaze, trying not to shrink under it. “I’m not a child, Flint. I can make my own choices.”

He ...