"Don’t take off so fast, Winter. Stick around for a bit."
Winter paused mid-step but didn’t turn around.
"I’m not sure my ex-husband’s ex-wife and me qualify as friends who hang out together."
The words ex-husband that came out of Winter's mouth made Cassian’s hand falter, a knot tightening in his chest.
She wasn’t wrong, but he told himself it was nothing more than the leftover pull of old habits.
He let out a quiet sigh, told Yvonne to drop it, then stepped forward and caught Winter’s hand.
"Winter, Yvonne and I just bumped into each other. Don’t read too much into it. You said you wanted to be friends with her. Well, you’ve met now, so why not stay for a little while?"
His tone was light, almost coaxing, but his grip left no room for her to say no.
When Winter finally turned to look at him, it struck her how much he had changed.
The man who once had that roguish grin, one hand on a cigarette and the other pulling her out of trouble—that man was gone.
In his place was someone polished and composed, the kind of man who fit seamlessly into the city’s upper circles.
And her, in her cheap clothes, like dirt on his tailored suit.
She should have realized long ago that they were living in different worlds now.
Her eyes reddened as she looked straight at him. "Do you really want me to stay and sit with you?"
The intensity in her voice caught Cassian off guard. Before he could answer, she pressed again, "Do you really want me to sit there with them?"
His fingers tightened around hers. Without thinking, he reached up to brush away her tears.
"It’s just conversation. Think of it as meeting someone new."
She turned her face away, giving a flat, "Fine."
Without another glance at him, she walked over and sank into the sofa.
In her heart, she swore this would be the last time. After tonight, whatever debt she owed him for saving her life would be paid in full—and erased from her memory.
Cassian stared at his own hand hanging awkwardly in the air, a strange ache twisting in his chest.
Yvonne caught the moment. A glint of something sharp flickered in her eyes.
She called over a few more friends to the private lounge, then slid into the space beside Winter. Cassian took the other side.
"Let’s make it interesting. Spin the bottle—whoever it lands on either removes a piece of clothing or picks someone else to take a drink for them. If that person refuses to drink, they get a dare instead."
No one protested.
Winter silently encouraged herself. Then she felt Cassian’s hand pat her shoulder quickly to give her a flicker of courage.
After a few spins, the bottle still hadn’t landed on her and she allowed herself to relax. Then it stopped, pointing at Yvonne.
Yvonne leaned over and rested a hand on her shoulder. Cassian wordlessly lifted his glass, offering to drink for her.
Cheers exploded around the table. Winter’s stomach knotted.
The next spin landed on her. The noise around her shifted to taunting voices.
She shut her eyes, ready to say she would drink, but the glass was snatched up before she could touch it. Cassian started to raise it to his lips—until someone cut him off.
"Not how the game works, man. You’ve got to choose one person to drink for."
"Perfect chance—Yvonne or her. Choose."
The room went still. Winter’s nails bit into her palms under the table. She wished him to pick her. After all, he was the only person here she even knew.
But as her eyes met him nervously, he spoke.
"Yvonne."
The moment that one name was spoken, the crowd erupted, shouting so loudly that Winter’s head began to pound.
She turned to Cassian, her eyes dark with disbelief. Her breathing hitched, her jaw trembling as she fought to keep the tears from spilling.
Yvonne was dressed sharply in a tailored women’s suit with a light jacket, while all she had was a single, cheap dress.
Cassian didn't dare to meet her gaze—he kept his head lowered, silent.
There was no time for her to ask why. The crowd’s relentless egging on made her hands clumsy and her thoughts scatter.
She forced a smile, offering awkward apologies, until finally she bargained her way out of stripping by agreeing to down three shots of vodka.
But it didn’t end there. Somehow, it was always her turn again.
The first three shots, then another three...
She lost count of how many she had had. Her stomach burned, her head spun and eventually she slumped over the table.
When her turn came around yet again, she lifted her bleary eyes and reached for the glass, but Cassian’s hand closed firmly around her arm.
"That’s enough."
