CELESTE
I looked at him and for the first time in years, I didn’t see the ruthless Alpha. I saw the boy who used to argue with me until dawn, who’d smirk and call me wildfire under his breath when he thought I couldn’t hear.
He spoke before I could gather my thoughts. “You know,” he said quietly, “I never hated you. Even when you threw that inkwell at me in class.”
I blinked. “That was because you replaced my assignment with a love poem written to yourself.”
A slow grin tugged at his lips. “It was a good poem.”
“It was narcissistic.”
“Creative,” he countered. “You just couldn’t admit you laughed when you read it.”
“I didn’t!” I protested.
He arched a brow. “You did. I saw it. You tried to hide it behind your book.”
I shook my head, but a small laugh escaped me anyway. “You were in
