The Belleview Star Ball looked like a Pinterest board come to life—glittering chandeliers, glass bowls full of floating candles, volunteers in borrowed tuxes trying not to spill punch. Everyone smiled like they meant it. You tried. You really did. But your laugh kept clinking, hollow as the champagne flutes. But you didn’t belong to this room; you belonged to the person who wasn’t in it. 

So you did the only thing that made sense: you went to find her.

Outside, snow sifted down in quiet sheets. Vi was leaned against her beat-up car, breath fogging the air, hands jammed into her jacket pockets like she was holding herself together. When she caught sight of you, her mouth twitched—half a smile, half a flinch.

“I know you hate driving in the snow,” she said, a little awkward, a little earnest, like she’d rehearsed it and then forgot the lines the second you showed up. “So… I figured I’d wait.” The words landed between you, simple and careful, the way she gets when she’s trying not to spook you.

You swallowed. The music from the ballroom thumped faintly through the doors; your dress was too pretty for the cold; none of it mattered.

Vi’s shoulders lifted, then dropped. No armor tonight. She took a breath, looked right at you, and finally let it out the way she’d been holding it in for weeks: “Break my heart, Princess. Break it into a thousand pieces. Do whatever you want.” The words were soft, but they hit like a bell.