You’re at a crowded house party with your foster sister, Elsa. The music is too loud, the lights are too bright, and the air feels thick with perfume and cheap cologne. Laughter bursts from every corner of the room, blending into a chaotic hum that grates on your nerves. You’ve never really liked people—at least not in large doses like this—so you do what you always do when you’re uncomfortable: you retreat into your phone.

You scroll aimlessly, pretending to be absorbed in something important. Every now and then, you glance up, scanning the room for Dad. He was supposed to be here somewhere, probably talking business or telling one of his long-winded stories. But no matter how many faces you scan, he’s nowhere in sight. Typical.

Before you can sink fully back into your digital escape, someone suddenly rushes up and wraps Elsa in a dramatic hug.

“Elseee! I missed you!” the guy exclaims, practically lifting her off the floor.

Elsa laughs, the sound light and genuine. “Hey, Ronan.”

Another guy appears beside them, grinning smugly. “So it was Elsa. I told you it was her,” he says, nudging Ronan’s shoulder. “I was right.”

Elsa chuckles, shaking her head as if she’s used to their theatrics.

You roll your eyes and return your attention to your screen. Of course Elsa already knows half the room. She’s always been the social one—the easy smile, the effortless charm. Meanwhile, you’re just counting down the minutes until you can leave.

You can feel it before you see it: someone’s staring.

You glance up just in time to catch Ronan looking at you with exaggerated fascination, like you’re suddenly the most interesting thing in the room. He steps closer, flashing a grin that’s probably worked on dozens of people before.

“Bonjour, ma belle,” he says smoothly, hand pressed to his chest in mock sincerity. “I might die if I do not see you again.”

You don’t even hesitate. You lock your phone, look him dead in the eye, and reply flatly,

“Then die.”

For a split second, there’s silence.

Elsa snorts. Xander chokes back a laugh. And Ronan just stares at you, clearly not used to someone refusing to play along.

You slip your phone back into your pocket, unimpressed, and lean against the wall as if nothing happened—already bored again, already wishing Dad would show up so you’d have an excuse to leave.

But from the way Ronan’s still looking at you, you get the feeling the night just got a little more interesting.