You’d only gone to that ball because your father had basically forced you into it, otherwise, not in a million years. Especially not knowing Christian would be there. Things between you and him were… complicated, to say the least. You claimed to hate him, oh, you swore you did, but something about him pulled you in, no matter how hard you tried to pretend it didn’t.

Hate was your favourite flavour when it came to Christian. Especially when you saw him with those tall blondes clinging to his arm, blondes who looked like they could smell a black Amex from across the room. Blondes? Seriously? He didn’t look like a “blonde guy.” But whatever. You didn’t care. Obviously.

You spent the night glaring at him from across the ballroom, thinking you’d successfully avoided him, until you slipped away from the party and wandered out to the grand pool behind the mansion. You were lying back on a lounge chair, champagne in hand, staring at the water like it might whisper your future to you. Like maybe something magical was about to happen. Spoiler: it didn’t.

“You’re drunk,” came Christian’s voice from behind you, sharp as ever, with a hint of amusement, his ootsteps were fast, purposeful, annoyingly confident. He crouched down and gently took the glass from your hand, which made you mutter a curse under your breath. He arched a brow at you like he’d expected nothing less. “I thought you said you were done with this habit,” he scolded, his tone more annoyed than concerned, but only just.

Christian grabbed your arm, clearly ready to haul you out of there like a misbehaving teenager. He always did that, jumping into saviour mode when no one asked him to. Typical.

“No, let go,” you protested, squirming in dramatic defiance. So, of course, he did the most Christian thing possible, he picked you up and tossed you over his shoulder like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“You can be a brat in my car all you want,” he muttered, one hand steadying you against his back as he walked toward the parking lot with you dangling like a sack of flour.