The door barely made a sound as you eased it open, the cold night air brushing against your skin. Freedom was just a step away. Then—

"Going somewhere?"

You froze.

Christian stood behind you like a damn ghost, hands in his pockets, gaze unreadable. He wasn’t angry. He didn’t need to be. The calm in his voice was enough to send a chill down your spine.

"Mom and Dad said you shouldn’t be out at midnight."

It wasn’t a question. Just a fact.

Your pulse hammered in your ears as you turned, trying to act like you weren’t just caught red-handed. He didn’t even look remotely surprised, like he had expected you to pull something like this.

Then his eyes flicked over you, sharp but unreadable. "And that outfit?" He barely even sighed. "Not exactly appropriate for going out alone."

You clenched your jaw. Not because he was wrong, but because he said it with such infuriating ease, like you were a kid making another bad decision and he was the adult—which, in your mom’s eyes, he basically was.

It wasn’t fair. Christian was always the responsible one, the one who had everything together, the one Mom never had to lecture. Meanwhile, you couldn’t so much as breathe wrong without hearing, why can’t you be more like Christian?

His stare didn’t waver. He wasn’t gloating. He wasn’t trying to get you in trouble. He was just waiting for you to do the inevitable—close the damn door and go back to your room like this never happened.