Ashes & Roses

Chapter 11

Wynter Rose Monroe

By the time we were both ready, my room looked as though a department store had exploded inside it. Clothes had been discarded across the beds, Genevieve's makeup was scattered over every available surface, and the faint scent of hairspray hung in the air. I stood near my bed with my duffle bag slung over one shoulder, checking one last time that I hadn't forgotten anything. Genevieve had changed into something effortlessly polished, as usual, and looked far more pleased with the evening than I felt.

She glanced at me as she adjusted one of her earrings. "Ready?"

I looked toward the door, hesitating for only a moment before nodding. "Ready."

She didn't ask me again what was wrong. She didn't mention the strange mood I'd been carrying around since earlier that day. For that, I was grateful. Maybe she understood that if I wanted to talk about it, I would or maybe she simply knew when to leave something alone. Either way, she took the lead toward the door, and I followed behind her. The moment we stepped into the hallway, the noise from the rest of the building seemed louder than usual. Students moved around us in groups, already dressed for the night, their voices echoing down the corridor as they made plans and called to one another. I adjusted the strap of my dance bag against my shoulder.

For tonight, I told myself, I wasn't going to think about Mr. Whitmore or about the three hundred thousand dollars. I was going to go to a party with my best friend, breathe for a few hours, and pretend that my life hadn't changed that morning. It sounded almost convincing.

Almost.

The walk toward fraternity row was louder the closer we got. Even from several blocks away, music pulsed through the evening air, low enough at first that it felt more like a vibration beneath my feet than an actual song. By the time the fraternity houses came into view, the sidewalks were crowded with students moving in the same direction, clusters of people dressed for the night and already laughing loudly enough to be heard over the music. Genevieve walked beside me with the same effortless confidence she seemed to carry everywhere, her arm linked loosely through mine for the first few minutes before she eventually let go to adjust the strap of her purse. Her attention drifting toward the groups of students passing us.

"So, while you've been busy disappearing into ballet studios all day, has anyone caught your attention yet?"

My expression blanked and she noticed immediately.

"Oh, come on." She insisted, I know she was poking harmless fun but honestly that's bit the last thing on my mind.

"No one has caught my attention." I stated, secretly hoping that it would be the end of the conversation.

"Not even a little?" She teased more.

I shook my head, keeping a small smile on my lips.

"We're young, beautiful, and surrounded by an alarming number of attractive people." She sighed dramatically. "I expected you to have at least one campus crush by now." Genevieve gave me a suspicious look before bumping her shoulder lightly against mine.

"Fine. Have you made any friends, then?"

"Yes." My voice becoming flat, I didn't know how much pretending I could do. Normally I'm alone with my thoughts but now I have someone analyzing my every move. Her brows lifted at the small revelation .

"Really? I thought I was your only friend." Genevieve said with a tiny pout.

"You are." A small genuine laugh escaped, I adored the slight hint of jealousy. I never had a friend like Genevieve, her personality was unlike anyone I've ever met and it's something I'd have to get accustomed to.

"Then who are these mysterious other people?" She asked narrowing her eyes at me.

I looked ahead, watching the neon glow from the fraternity houses begin to color the pavement beneath our feet.

"Classmates."

"Have you made friends who are planning to replace me?"

That earned another small laugh from me. I met her eyes and nudged her shoulder playfully.

"No one is replacing you."

"Good." She sounded entirely serious.

I shook my head, but this time my smile came a little easier. I was trying. I knew she could tell something was wrong even if she had stopped asking about it, and I appreciated that she was making the effort to pull me out of my own head without forcing me to explain why I had disappeared into it in the first place. For a few minutes, it worked.

The music grew louder and fraternity row came fully into view. The house ahead of us was already glowing. Neon lights had been strung across the front porch and around the windows, bathing the white exterior in shifting shades of electric pink, green, and blue. Black lights spilled across the lawn, catching on fluorescent clothing and painted skin. Students moved everywhere, glowing bracelets circling their wrists and necklaces shining against their throats. Someone near the entrance was handing out glow sticks by the handful, and every few seconds, another burst of laughter rose above the bass vibrating from inside the house.

"Okay," she said, looking toward the house. "This is more like it." Genevieve's face brightened immediately.

She reached for my hand and started pulling me toward the lawn before I could protest. I adjusted the strap of my duffle bag against my shoulder, trying not to let it slip as we moved through the crowd. In the darkness, with neon lights flashing across hundreds of bodies and glow sticks scattered everywhere, people were already difficult to distinguish from one another.

It was chaos. Bright, loud, crowded chaos and for once, I didn't completely hate it. Genevieve had almost reached the entrance when her expression changed.

"Oh, God." She huffed I followed her gaze.

Zaelen Rhodes was standing on the lawn, even from a distance, he was impossible to miss. He stood surrounded by a group of people, laughing at something one of them had said, his attention only half on the conversation. The second he noticed Genevieve approaching, his entire demeanor shifted. His smile widened. Genevieve muttered something under her breath that I couldn't hear before her expression transformed almost immediately. Her annoyance disappeared behind a bright, polished smile so convincing that I might have believed it if I hadn't watched her put it on.

"Oh," she murmured. "Fantastic."

Zaelen was already walking toward us.

"Genevieve." His voice carried easily over the music. Genevieve's smile widened another fraction.

"Zaelen." There was something almost performative about the way she said his name.

"You came." His gaze moved over her before returning to her face.

"I know. Shocking."

He laughed, stepping closer. "I was starting to think you were avoiding me."

"That's an interesting assumption."

His grin only grew. I watched Genevieve carefully. She looked perfectly relaxed, perfectly composed, but I could feel the subtle change in her beside me. Zaelen had noticed her and judging by the way he was looking at her, he had no intention of letting her disappear into the party without making sure she knew it. I stayed beside her quietly as the conversation continued, watching the two of them with growing confusion. Genevieve clearly didn't like him. I had seen that much from the way her entire body had tensed when she first noticed him. Yet now she was standing in front of him smiling as though they were old friends.

Maybe that was just how people like Genevieve operated. Maybe being polite was easier than creating a scene. Zaelen eventually glanced toward the strap of my duffle bag hanging over my shoulder.

"You can leave that up front if you want. There's a pile of bags and coats by the entrance. Nobody's going to bother it." He said as he escorted us up the porch steps I looked toward the doorway. Just inside, beneath the glow of several neon lights, a crowded pile of jackets, purses, and backpacks had been pushed against the wall. People were stepping around it without paying much attention. I hesitated but then the dance bag suddenly felt heavier against my shoulder.

"It's fine," Zaelen added. "Seriously."

"Okay. Thank you." I moved toward the entrance, slipping past a group of people as I approached the pile. The moment I bent down to place my bag beside the others, I immediately felt strange about leaving it there. There were too many people. Too much noise. Too many hands moving through the darkness. The house was darker inside than I expected. Black lights had been mounted along the walls, casting an eerie violet glow over everything they touched. Neon streamers hung from the ceiling, and glow sticks had been wrapped around stair railings and doorframes until the entire house looked as though it had been outlined in electric color. Students moved through the rooms with glowing bracelets around their wrists and necklaces shining against their skin. Some had painted bright streaks across their faces that caught beneath the ultraviolet light.

The music was loud enough to feel inside my chest. I stood still for a moment, taking everything in. Someone stumbled into the wall near the living room before their friends dissolved into laughter. A couple was dancing badly in the corner. Someone else had climbed onto the arm of a couch, waving two glow sticks over their head as though they were conducting the music. My mind kept returning to a different room entirely. A closed office. A hand against my knee. A voice telling me exactly how fragile my future had suddenly become. I pushed the thought away before it could settle. Tonight wasn't supposed to be about that at least, I didn't want it to be. When I returned to Genevieve and Zaelen, he had already moved closer to her. His hand rested casually against the small of her back as he guided her toward the entrance, his fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary.

The kitchen had become one of the few places in the house where the music wasn't completely unbearable. It still shook faintly through the floor beneath my feet, but the conversations were easier to follow here, even if most of them were being shouted over the bass. I stood near the edge of the counter with my drink resting loosely between my hands, doing my best to occupy as little space as possible without looking as though I was actively trying to disappear. Genevieve and Zaelen were a few feet away from me, absorbed in their own conversation. Or, more accurately, Zaelen was absorbed in Genevieve. His attention had barely left her since we'd arrived. I watched him lean closer to say something near her ear. Genevieve didn't move away she only smiled, lifting her hand to adjust the necklace resting against her collarbone and Zaelen noticed immediately.

"New?" His fingers brushed lightly against the pendant.

"Do you ask every girl that question, or am I special?" Genevieve glanced down at it before looking back at him.

"You're definitely special." His grin widened.

She laughed softly, and I looked away. Maybe I was overthinking it. Maybe Genevieve was simply being polite. She had spent the entire day proving she was perfectly capable of smiling at people she didn't particularly care for. Still, something about the way she played along with him continued to bother me.

I lifted my drink and took another small sip, immediately regretting it when the alcohol burned down my throat. I wasn't used to drinking. The warmth settled unpleasantly in my stomach, but I forced my face to remain neutral and leaned back against the counter instead. Around us, the party continued in flashes of neon and movement. Glow sticks passed through the crowd like streaks of color. Someone laughed loudly near the refrigerator. A girl stumbled into another student and nearly dropped her drink. Music spilled through the open doorway, swallowing fragments of conversation before they could reach me.

I kept my eyes moving. It was easier than letting my thoughts settle anywhere for too long. That was when I saw him. At first, he was only a dark figure moving through the crowd. He was weaving between people with another man beside him, his hood pulled low over his head despite the heat inside the house. Neon light flashed across the black fabric as he moved, briefly outlining the width of his shoulders before disappearing again behind the bodies crossing between us.

Something about him drew my attention immediately. Not because he was trying to be noticed. He wasn't. Everyone else at the party seemed to move with the same restless energy, their bodies swaying to the music or turning constantly toward whoever was speaking loudest. He moved through all of it with an unsettling calm, as though the noise and flashing lights existed somewhere entirely outside of him.

He reached the kitchen and the man beside him followed. For the first time, I could see him clearly. The hood still shadowed most of his face, but I caught the sharp line of his jaw as he lifted his head, and then he looked directly at Zaelen. I felt the change before anyone said anything. It was subtle at first. A tightening in the space around us. The man in the hoodie stopped moving. His stare remained fixed across the kitchen.

Zaelen was still speaking to Genevieve, completely unaware that he was being watched. Genevieve said something that made him smile. His fingers remained loosely curled around the pendant at her throat as he leaned closer to respond.

Zaelen's eyes lifted. For a second, nothing happened, his entire expression changed, the easy charm disappeared first, even his posture shifted. It was so immediate that I straightened slightly without realizing it. This wasn't the Zaelen I'd watched since arriving. The one who smiled easily and touched Genevieve as though the entire night belonged to him. Something colder settled over his face as his attention locked onto the man standing several feet away.

Genevieve hadn't noticed yet. She was still looking at Zaelen, waiting for him to finish whatever he had been about to say. I glanced between them. The silence felt strange, too deliberate. The man beside the hooded figure stood quietly, his attention moving between the two of them. He seemed completely unsurprised by whatever was happening. Zaelen finally stepped away from Genevieve. His expression shifted again, though not completely. A smile returned, but it didn't reach his eyes this time. Before turning away, he looked back at her and brushed his fingers briefly along her waist.

"I'll catch up with you, gorgeous," he said. "I'll show you my room later."

"I'll hold you to that." Genevieve smiled at him, appearing entirely pleased by the attention.

Zaelen gave her one last look before turning toward the two men. I watched him walk away. The dark-haired man beside the stranger met Zaelen halfway, saying something I couldn't hear over the music. Zaelen responded with a short nod, and the three of them disappeared through the doorway together.

I didn't move my eyes remained fixed on the space where they'd vanished. Maybe I stared too long, because by the time I finally looked away, Genevieve was watching me. I lifted my cup again, pretending I hadn't just spent the last several seconds staring after a stranger whose name I didn't even know.

Genevieve watched Zaelen disappear into the crowd for another moment before the smile she had been wearing finally slipped from her face. The change was almost immediate. Her shoulders loosened, the brightness in her expression fading as she lifted her drink and took a much larger swallow than necessary.

"That was exhausting."

I looked at her from where I stood beside the kitchen counter, my cup still resting between my fingers.

"You were smiling."

"Exactly." Genevieve lowered her drink and looked genuinely offended by my observation. "Do you know how much energy it takes to pretend I enjoy being touched every seven seconds?"

"You don't like him?"

"No." Genevieve turned her head and looked directly at me.

The answer came so quickly that, despite everything weighing heavily inside me, I almost smiled.

"But you act like you do."

"That's because Zaelen likes attention." She took another drink before leaning one elbow against the counter. "And when he thinks you're interested in him, he's considerably easier to deal with."

"Easier to deal with?"

"Yes."

I waited for her to explain further, but Genevieve only lifted one shoulder, apparently deciding that was enough information.

"That sounds manipulative."

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "It is manipulative. Its fun.."

I stared at her for a moment, and she stared back without even the slightest indication that she was ashamed of herself.

"I'm not saying I'm proud of it, but guys like that you keep on a leash" she added.

A quiet laugh escaped me before I could stop it. It was small and brief, disappearing almost as quickly as it had come, but Genevieve noticed. My attention dropped back toward my drink, and for a moment, neither of us said anything. The music continued vibrating through the floor beneath our feet while voices rose and fell around us, people laughing and shouting over one another from every direction.

Genevieve looked at me for a second longer, but thankfully, she didn't ask what was wrong. Instead, she finished the rest of her drink and pushed herself away from the counter.

"Come on."

I followed her without asking where we were going. The party had somehow grown even louder since we arrived. More people had crowded into the house, filling every available space until it felt impossible to move without brushing against someone. Neon bracelets and glow sticks flashed beneath the black lights, painting streaks of green, pink, and blue against people's skin. Someone had draped glowing strings along the staircase, and the music pulsed so loudly through the walls that I could feel the bass in my chest.

Genevieve moved through the crowd with the same confidence she seemed to bring everywhere else. I stayed close behind her, trying not to look as uncomfortable as I felt.

For the next hour, I tried. I really tried. I smiled when Genevieve introduced me to people whose names disappeared from my mind almost immediately. I nodded through conversations I barely followed and laughed when it seemed appropriate, hoping no one noticed how little of the night I was actually processing. When someone offered me another drink, I accepted it even though I wasn't particularly interested in having one. By the time Genevieve was well into her third drink, I was only beginning my second. That alone felt excessive. I wasn't a big drinker, and the alcohol didn't make me feel lighter the way everyone else around me seemed to. If anything, it made my thoughts more difficult to control. They continued circling back toward Whitmore's office, only now the memories felt slower and heavier, slipping into one another until I couldn't seem to separate what was happening around me from what had already happened.

Eventually, Genevieve and I found ourselves on one of the couches near the back of the living room. She immediately recognized someone standing nearby and leaned forward to begin another conversation, while I sat quietly beside her with my drink resting between both hands. The music was loud, too loud. The lights flashed across the room in quick, disorienting colors. Red. Blue. Green. Someone laughed somewhere behind me. I stared down into my cup tightening my grip around the plastic. For a few seconds, I wasn't thinking about anything at all.

Then someone touched my knee. My entire body went rigid. The room disappeared and the party atmosphere melted into something else

I could feel the weight of his hand again, heavy and unwanted against my skin. My stomach twisted so violently that I thought I might be sick, and suddenly I wasn't sitting in the fraternity house anymore.

I was back in Whitmore's office.

I could see the polished surface of his desk. I could smell the faint cologne lingering in the room. I could hear his voice lowering as he spoke to me, could see that smile on his face as though he knew something I didn't.

Three hundred thousand dollars.

The hand against my knee moved slightly.

"Don't f*****g touch me!" The words tore out of me before I understood that I was speaking. My entire body reacted at once, my hand tightening around the plastic cup before I threw it without thinking.

The drink splashed across the person standing in front of me. For one horrible second, I didn't understand what I had done. The music was still playing. People were still moving around us. Then a sharp gasp came from somewhere nearby, and the attention in the room seemed to shift toward me all at once. I slowly looked up.

Zaelen stood directly in front of me.

His face and his shirt was soaked, liquid dripping down the fabric and onto the floor beneath him. His expression was frozen somewhere between confusion and complete disbelief as he looked down at himself before lifting his gaze back toward me.

"What the actual f**k?" He spat loudly over the music.

My mouth opened, but nothing came out. Zaelen wiped his face his expression tightening. "I was just trying to see if you wanted pizza."

The room seemed to tilt slightly. I stared at him, my gaze dropping helplessly toward his partially extended hand as the reality of what I had just done began to settle over me piece by piece.

"Oh my God." The words barely made it past my lips.

Around us, people had started staring. I could hear whispers beginning to move through the room, quiet voices overlapping beneath the music. Someone behind me laughed nervously, and the sound sent another wave of heat rushing into my face.

Zaelen was still standing there, completely soaked and visibly furious.

"Are you serious?" I couldn't answer him. My throat had closed completely, and the humiliation was suddenly so overwhelming that I could barely think past it.

"Wynter?" Genevieve's voice finally cut through the noise.

I stood so quickly that the couch shifted beneath me.

"I—"

My voice broke before I could finish. I didn't try again. I turned and pushed my way through the crowd.

"Wynter!" I heard Genevieve behind me, but I kept walking. The flashing lights made everything worse, and the alcohol in my system wasn't helping. Bodies moved in front of me as I tried to make my way toward the entrance, forcing me to squeeze between strangers and apologize when I bumped into someone. I just needed to get out. I had almost reached the front door when Genevieve caught my arm.

"Wynter, stop."

The contact made me flinch so violently that she seemed to notice it, but she didn't let go.

"What the hell was that?" she demanded, raising her voice over the music. "What's going on with you?"

Something inside me snapped. I yanked my arm from her grasp, stumbling slightly as I pulled away.

"Why can't you just leave me alone?"

Genevieve went still. The sight of her expression should have been enough to stop me. It wasn't. The humiliation from moments earlier was still burning through me. My heart was racing, my thoughts were spinning, and all I could feel was the suffocating pressure of someone else demanding answers I couldn't give them.

"I've known you for five seconds," I shouted, my voice louder than I intended. "We're not friends!"

The hurt on Genevieve's face was immediate and that was the worst part. The anger disappeared from her expression so quickly that I wanted to take the words back before they had fully left my mouth. She simply stared at me, and for a few seconds, neither of us said anything. People continued moving around us, the party carrying on as though something between us hadn't just fractured.

"Okay," she finally said.

My throat tightened.

"Genevieve, I didn't—"

She shook her head before I could finish. "No."

There was no anger in her voice anymore. Somehow, that hurt worse.Genevieve turned away from me and disappeared back into the crowd. I stood there, staring after her. For one brief second, I considered going after her and I should have.

The thought settled painfully inside me, but my body refused to move. The room was still spinning around me, and every face I passed seemed to be turned in my direction. I couldn't bring myself to walk back through that crowd and face anyone, especially not Genevieve. Not after what I had just said. Instead, I turned toward the door.

Near the entrance, there was a pile of coats and bags exactly where Zaelen had told me to leave mine when we first arrived. Through the haze of flashing lights and tears, I spotted the familiar red university duffle bag resting among them. I grabbed it without slowing down and pushed through the front door.

The cold night air hit me immediately. I ran. At first, I wasn't entirely sure where I was going. My body simply carried me away from the fraternity house, away from the music and the people and the humiliation still crawling beneath my skin. I needed somewhere quiet. Somewhere familiar. The dance building. By the time I reached it, my chest was aching and my breathing had become uneven. A few students were still leaving through the front entrance, their voices carrying softly across the otherwise quiet hallway. None of them paid much attention to me as I slipped past, gripping the strap of the bag tightly against my shoulder. I waited until their footsteps disappeared, then the building finally became quiet.

I made my way toward the studio, my legs beginning to ache beneath me as the adrenaline slowly wore off. The room was dark when I stepped inside, the only light coming from the hallway behind me. I didn't bother turning anything else on.

Instead, I walked toward the middle of the floor and dropped the bag. It hit the hardwood with a heavier sound than I expected but I barely noticed. Everything I had been holding inside of myself since that morning came rushing back at once.

Whitmore.

The money.

His hand.

My scholarship.

Zaelen standing in front of me covered in my drink.

Genevieve's face when I told her we weren't friends.

A broken sound escaped my throat before I covered my face with both hands.

Then I screamed. It wasn't graceful. It wasn't quiet. It was ugly and raw and filled with everything I had spent the entire day forcing myself not to feel. When the sound finally died away, I sank to the floor. I cried until my head hurt, until my chest ached, until there was nothing left inside of me except exhaustion. Eventually, the tears slowed. I sat there for a long time with my arms wrapped around myself, staring blankly at the darkened floor. Then my gaze shifted toward the red bag.

Dancing.

That was why I had brought it and the reason I had agreed to go to the party in the first place. Ballet had never asked me to explain myself. It didn't care if I was embarrassed, frightened, angry, or completely falling apart. It only asked me to move.

Slowly, I wiped beneath my eyes and pushed myself back to my feet. Maybe dancing would make me feel better , for an hour or two, I could stop thinking. I walked toward the bag and pulled the zipper open.

At first, I didn't understand what I was looking at. My dance clothes weren't inside. Neither were my pointe shoes.

For several seconds, my mind refused to understand. Stacks of money. My breath caught sharply.

Bundles of cash held together with different colored rubber bands. I stared in complete disbelief, my heart beginning to pound all over again as one terrifying realization finally pushed through the fog in my mind.

This wasn't my bag.