Ashes & Roses

Chapter 7

Wynter Rose Monroe

The closer we got to the fraternity row, the more I questioned every decision that led me out the door tonight. The heels were definitely a mistake. I could feel it with every step, not because my feet hurt yet, but because the unfamiliar height made me hyperaware of my own balance. Every few seconds, I caught myself looking down to make sure I wasn't about to trip over a crack in the pavement. I subtly tugged at the hem of my silk dress. Maybe it was too short. Maybe the makeup was too much. I glanced at my reflection in the darkened window of a passing campus building and immediately looked away.

"Do I look okay?" I asked.

Genevieve looked over, her hands tucked deep into the pockets of her leather jacket, completely unbothered by the growing crush of students ahead of us. She stopped walking, forcing me to take another step before realizing she'd dropped back and was staring at me like I'd just lost my mind.

"You look hot," she said flatly.

My cheeks warmed. "Genevieve."

"No." She shook her head. "We're not doing this."

"Doing what?"

"The thing where you spend the entire night convincing yourself you look terrible when you don't."

I looked down at myself again. "I'm just not used to this."

Genevieve dropped her gaze to my shoes.

"You're telling me you can survive hours in those torture devices you call pointe shoes, but you can't handle a pair of heels?"

I laughed quietly. "These are different."

"They're not," she argued.

"They absolutely are."

Genevieve started walking again, forcing me to catch up. "These are the lowest pair I own," she continued. "And I don't go lower than three inches."

I looked at her. "That's supposed to make me feel better?"

"Yes."

I smiled despite myself. Genevieve bumped her shoulder lightly against mine, her tone softening.

"You look good, Wynter."

I looked ahead at the fraternity houses glowing beneath tangled strings of lights, the sidewalks swarming with people heading toward the noise.

"I just don't usually dress like this, and I feel like everyone is going to notice me."

Genevieve glanced sideways at me. "That's because they probably will."

My stomach tightened.

Genevieve's expression softened. "You don't have to hide yourself just because you're used to being the quiet girl in the corner. Tonight, you get to be eighteen. You get to wear the dress, wear the heels, and actually have some fun."

I smiled faintly. "You're really good at making things sound simple."

"They are simple," she said with a wink.

I laughed again, and she grinned. "Now stop looking at your feet before you convince yourself you forgot how to walk."

I straightened my shoulders, absorbing the energy Genevieve was radiating. "Okay."

We kept walking toward the house as the bass grew louder with every step. Despite the nervous fluttering in my chest, I found myself smiling. Maybe Genevieve was right. Maybe I didn't have to spend the whole night worrying whether I belonged here.

Music poured through the open windows and the front door, the bass carrying down the street in deep, steady pulses. Cars lined both sides of the road, and groups of students crowded the sidewalk with red cups in their hands. Someone was laughing loudly near the porch while another group pushed through the front door, disappearing into the noise inside. We had almost reached the porch when someone stepped away from the railing. A guy had been standing with a few other fraternity members, but the moment his eyes landed on Genevieve, his attention changed. He stared for a second longer than most people would have before his lips curved into an easy, practiced smile. He came down the porch steps with the fluid confidence of a man accustomed to drawing every eye in the room, stopping right in front of us.

"Genevieve Oakley?" he asked.

Genevieve kept her expression polite, though I could tell she was searching her memory for a match. "Yes?"

His smile widened, bright and predatory behind its charm. "I knew that was you." He held out a hand, his posture relaxed. "Zaelen Rhodes."

She shook it, her tone measured. "Nice to meet you."

"The pleasure's mine," he murmured, his gaze lingering on her face just long enough to make it clear he found her striking. "You look even better in person."

Genevieve let out a soft, amused laugh, shaking her head. "That's an interesting way to introduce yourself."

"I figured honesty was a good place to start," he said with a grin. I watched quietly from the side as Zaelen shifted his weight, entirely comfortable in his element.

"I've heard about you," he continued smoothly.

Genevieve raised an eyebrow, a hint of challenge in her voice. "Hopefully good things."

"Nothing bad," he said, placing a hand over his chest in mock offense. "I'd remember if I'd heard something bad."

She laughed again, relaxing into the rhythm of his banter. There was an effortless quality to the way he spoke, lacking any awkward stumbles or desperate overcompensation; he simply knew how to command a conversation.

"I didn't realize I was famous enough for people to recognize me at parties," Genevieve remarked. Zaelen gave her a knowing look.

"Your last name does most of the work."

Her smile faltered for a fraction of a second before snapping back into place. "Well, now you've met me."

"And I'm glad I did." His attention flicked toward me. "And who's your friend?"

"Wynter," I offered with a small smile. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too, Wynter." He nodded politely before turning his focus back to Genevieve. "I should probably introduce myself properly before you decide I'm some random guy bothering you on the porch."

"Too late," Genevieve teased.

That earned a genuine laugh from him. "Fair enough." He leaned in slightly, bridging the gap so she could hear him over the bass vibrating through the wood. "I'm the president of Omega Beta Sigma."

Genevieve glanced toward the pulsing front door. "That's your fraternity?"

"Unfortunately."

"Unfortunately?" she questioned with a raised eyebrow.

"I have to deal with all of them," he sighed, gesturing toward the house with dramatic exhaustion. "It's exhausting being responsible for this many idiots."

She smiled, shaking her head. "I don't believe you."

"Good. You shouldn't." His grin widened. "But I am the president." He stepped aside, sweeping a hand toward the entrance. "If I'd known you were coming tonight, I would've personally come down to get you."

"You're doing that now," she pointed out, tilting her head.

"Exactly." He offered his arm with a theatrical crook of his elbow. "Allow me."

Genevieve laughed, slipping her arm through his. "You're ridiculous."

"I've been called worse."

He led her up the steps, and I followed closely behind, smiling to myself as Zaelen effortlessly kept her laughing. Once we reached the porch, he dropped his voice to a low murmur meant only for her.

"So tell me, what do I have to do to convince you this is the best party on campus?"

"You're going to have to work pretty hard," Genevieve replied.

His eyes lit with a sharp spark of amusement. "I like a challenge."

She laughed again, and I followed them across the threshold. The heat hit us first, followed by a wall of deafening bass and the raw, kinetic energy of a packed house. Students spilled across the living room and choked the hallway, drinks in hand while colored lights smeared neon across the walls. Zaelen practically buzzed with energy now that he was inside his domain, tossing out casual greetings and sharp jokes to his brothers while keeping his focus anchored on Genevieve.

"This way," he said, guiding us deeper into the chaos.

I stayed on their heels, drawing a quick glance back from Zaelen.

"You're quiet."

I offered an apologetic smile. "I'm just taking everything in."

He nodded knowingly. "First college party?"

When I nodded, he grinned. "Then you're definitely getting the tour."

Genevieve glanced back over her shoulder, catching my eye with a reassuring look. "You're going to be fine."

I smiled back, and for the first time since stepping onto the lawn, I actually believed her. As Zaelen led us onward, rattling off commentary about the crowd and the rooms, I let myself dissolve into the noise, the lights, the foreign pulse of the night. I didn't notice the calculation behind Zaelen's lingering glances at Genevieve, nor did I question why her arrival had suddenly made him so intensely invested in our hospitality. He led us farther into the house, weaving through the crowded hallway with the fluid ease of someone who owned every floorboard beneath his feet. Genevieve stayed close beside him, her arm loosely linked through his, while I fell into step right behind them.

The air grew steadily warmer the deeper we pushed, heavy with the dense mix of perfume, spilled alcohol, and the greasy scent of fried food drifting from somewhere toward the kitchen. The bass still thudded heavily through the walls, though it felt slightly muffled back here, losing its sharp edge against the chatter of the rooms. Pushing open the kitchen door, Zaelen gestured for us to step inside. "This is where people usually end up when they get tired of pretending they came here for the music."

Genevieve laughed, looking around at the space. The kitchen was just as packed as the rest of the house, though the crowd had clustered around the counters instead of the dance floor, leaving bottles and red plastic cups scattered across every available surface.

"Do you actually have enough food for everyone?" she asked.

Zaelen glanced at the decimated snack trays on the counter with a wry grin. "We started with enough."

"And now?"

"Now we're hoping nobody asks questions."

Genevieve laughed again, and I offered a small smile as I surveyed the room. There was something fascinating about seeing a domestic space completely hijacked by the chaos of a college party. Underneath the debris and noise, it was just a normal kitchen, but tonight it belonged entirely to the crowd.

Zaelen tapped a bottle on the counter. "Drinks?"

Genevieve looked over at him. "Sure."

His eyes shifted to me. "You too?"

I hesitated, but before I could answer, Genevieve leaned in. "You don't have to."

"I'll have one," I said, meeting his gaze.

Zaelen smiled, reaching for another cup. "That's what I like to hear."

He began mixing the drinks with the practiced confidence of someone who had done it a hundred times before, glancing at Genevieve as she looked around the kitchen.

"So, this is what the president does at parties?" she asked.

"Among other things," he replied, handing both of us a fresh cup. "Keeping everyone alive is apparently part of the job description."

She accepted it with a soft smile. "You seem very committed."

"I have to be." Leaning back against the counter, cup in hand, he looked entirely at home in the middle of the madness. "Omega Beta Sigma has a reputation to maintain."

Genevieve arched an eyebrow. "A reputation?"

"A good one," he grinned. "We do more than throw parties. People just notice the parties because they're louder."

He began telling her about the fraternity's various campus events, mentioning fundraisers, charity drives, and community outreach programs they organized. His tone remained light and casual, but the underlying pride was unmistakable. Genevieve listened attentively, nodding along.

"That actually sounds like a lot of work."

"It is," Zaelen shrugged, though his smile stayed firmly in place. "But it's worth it. We raise money for different causes throughout the year, and we're trying to expand some of our events this semester."

"That sounds ambitious."

"I'd rather be ambitious than boring."

Genevieve laughed softly. "I can agree with that."

Zaelen held her gaze a second longer than necessary. "I had a feeling you would."

I took a small sip from my drink, letting the low hum of their conversation wash over me while I watched people drift through the kitchen. Someone bumped my shoulder as they squeezed past, muttering a quick apology before vanishing back into the throng. My attention drifted toward the open doorway and the steady stream of movement in the hallway. For a moment, I completely tuned out. There were people everywhere some dancing, some laughing, others sitting casually on the counters as if they owned the place. It was a million miles away from the quiet, structured routine I was used to.

"Wynter?"

I didn't hear him over the noise, my eyes still fixed on the chaotic energy of the hallway.

"Wynter?"

I blinked and finally turned back around. Zaelen was looking directly at me, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Sorry?"

"I asked what you're majoring in," he said smoothly.

"Oh." I glanced down at my cup before looking back up at him. "I'm a dancer."

His eyebrows lifted in mild surprise. "A dancer?"

"I'm in the ballet program." I couldn't help the small smile that tugged at my lips.

Zaelen looked between the two of us, then nodded approvingly. "Ballet. That's impressive."

I shrugged, a little self-conscious. "It's what I love."

"That matters." His tone shifted, carrying a sudden, unexpected sincerity that made me look at him twice. He lifted his cup toward me in a quiet salute. "To doing what you love."

I smiled and lightly tapped my cup against his. Genevieve watched us with an affectionate look before taking another sip of her drink. Almost immediately, Zaelen's attention snapped back to her, his focus settling over her like it had never left. I didn't think anything of it. I was too wrapped up in the music vibrating through the floorboards and the dizzy, exhilarating thrill of being somewhere so completely outside my own world. For the first time all night, I started to understand the appeal of these places. There was a strange, liberating comfort in standing shoulder-to-shoulder with hundreds of strangers and realizing that, for tonight at least, you were just part of the crowd.

Zaelen kept talking about the fraternity, and despite the surrounding noise, I found myself listening. He spoke easily about their semester fundraisers and community work, a quiet pride underscoring his casual tone. Genevieve engaged readily, asking questions while he leaned in closer so she could hear over the music. I stayed close, sipping my drink as people constantly squeezed past us between the counters and the doorway. I glanced toward the back door, where the backyard looked noticeably quieter through the glass.

Genevieve caught my look. "You okay?"

"Yeah," I smiled. "I just want some air."

"I'll come with you."

"You stay," I shook my head. "You're having fun."

She hesitated, studying my face. "You sure?"

"I'm sure," I reassured her.

Her expression softened. "Okay. I'll find you later."

I gave her a small nod and slipped through the back door. The change was immediate. The music was muffled, and cool air brushed my skin, carrying the faint scent of chlorine and patio smoke. The yard was far less crowded than the house, with a few groups gathered under string lights or talking quietly. My eyes settled on the pool, its blue lights casting shifting patterns across the still water. I walked over, already feeling the ache in my feet from the unfamiliar heels. Reaching the edge, I slipped them off with a silent sigh of relief and sat down, lowering my feet into the water. The chill made me wince before settling into cool comfort.

"Oh, thank God." I swished my feet back and forth, watching the ripples break apart the blue reflections. Taking another sip of my drink, I let my shoulders relax.

For the first time all night, I didn't have to keep up, dance, talk, or wonder if I belonged. I could just sit and breathe. The party continued behind me, but from the edge of the water, it felt a world away. For a few quiet minutes, that was enough. I wasn't sure how long I'd been sitting there before the back door clicked open, and Genevieve stepped out, scanning the patio until her eyes landed on me.

"There you are," she said, making her way over and lowering herself onto the pool's edge beside me.

"I told you I'd be out here," I smiled.

"I know," she replied, glancing down at my bare feet moving beneath the water with a soft laugh.

"You actually took them off."

"My feet were killing me."

"I warned you," she teased.

"You encouraged me," I reminded her.

"I encouraged you to wear the least painful pair I own," she corrected with a grin.

We fell silent, leaning back as we looked out across the yard. The distance softened the music into a muffled thud, and the pool's blue lights cast shifting patterns across the water. Genevieve let out a long sigh, prompting me to look over.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

I raised an eyebrow at that.

She offered a small, defeated look. "Okay. Maybe something."

"Zaelen?"

Her expression shifted slightly. "Yeah."

I waited, letting the silence hang between us.

"He's charming," she admitted.

The careful tone made me smile. "You don't sound convinced."

"I didn't say I was." She looked back toward the house, her expression turning unreadable for a second before she shrugged it off. "People like him are easy to read."

"Really?"

"Eventually." She took a slow sip of her drink, clearly with something on her mind.

I didn't push. I turned my gaze back to the water, slowly moving my feet through the chill. For a few minutes, we simply watched the party from the edge of the pool. We stayed there long enough for the ache in my feet to fade into something manageable and for the noise from the house to blur into background static. Genevieve seemed perfectly content sitting beside me, occasionally glancing toward the glass doors without looking like she was in any rush to rejoin the party. Then a voice called out over the patio chatter.

"Genevieve!"

She looked over her shoulder and found a few of her classmates standing near the back door with small plastic cups in their hands. Zaelen stood among them, his attention snapping straight to her the moment she turned. One of the girls waved her over, calling for her to come take shots with them.Genevieve laughed, then looked back down at me.

"Go," I told her with a small smile.

She hesitated, her brow furrowing. "You sure?"

"I'm fine."

"I can stay," she offered, glancing from the group back to me.

"You've been sitting here with me forever."

"That doesn't mean I mind."

"I know." I smiled reassuringly. "Go have fun."

She studied me for another second, searching my face to make sure I actually meant it. When she realized I did, she nodded.

"I'll be right here. I'll probably go inside in a little while."

"Okay." She pushed herself up from the concrete and smoothed down her dress. "Text me if you need anything."

"I will."

She gave me one last look before heading toward the group. Zaelen tossed out a comment that had everyone laughing, and a second later, she disappeared through the back door with them. I watched the empty space for a moment before turning my attention back to the water. The backyard felt noticeably quieter without her beside me, but I didn't mind. I dipped my feet deeper into the cool blue depths, took another sip of my drink, and let myself enjoy the solitude. I stayed by the pool for a while longer, letting the cool water ease the last of the ache from my feet while the backyard slowly drifted into a busier rhythm. More students wandered outside, carrying red cups and laughing over the muted thud of the music spilling through the open doors, a few of them gathering around the edge to talk loudly over the water. Then a sudden, reckless shout tore through the air from behind me.

"Cannonball!"

I barely had time to whip my head around. A guy came barreling across the patio, a loud laugh tearing from his throat as he launched himself through the air.

My eyes widened in instant panic. "Oh—"

He hit the water with a concussive slap. The heavy, freezing tidal wave surged over the stone rim before I could even blink, crashing violently down over my front. I gasped as the shock of the cold hit my chest and my face. My entire body jerked backward, the deluge instantly plastering the delicate blue silk of my dress to my skin, while my plastic cup slipped from my numb fingers and hit the concrete, spilling its contents across the ground. For a breathless second, I just sat there frozen. Water dripped steadily from the ends of my hair and tracked down my face, and I could feel the weight of nearby gazes shifting toward me. I looked down at myself, and my stomach plummeted.

No, no, no...

Grabbing my heels, I scrambled to my feet with a desperate, jerky motion. I couldn't look at anyone. The thought of raising my eyes made my throat tighten completely. A searing rush of mortification flooded my cheeks, burning hot against my damp skin as I shoved my bare feet into my shoes with shaking, uncooperative fingers. I didn't care about getting the straps right anymore. I just needed to vanish. Hunching my shoulders to shield myself, I bolted toward the house, weaving blindly through the cluster of students on the patio. A sharp laugh cut through the noise nearby. Whether it was meant for me or not didn't register; the exposure alone was enough to suffocate me. I slammed through the back door, rushing down the crowded hallway with my head ducked low, blindly hunting for the nearest sanctuary. My heart hammered wildly against my ribs, loud and painful in my ears. I needed a locked door. Somewhere private where I could finally catch my breath. When a door finally appeared on my right, I didn't hesitate, slipping inside and shoving it shut behind me. The roar of the party instantly dropped to a muffled, distant hum. I turned, pressing my back hard against the wood of the locked door, and closed my eyes. I was soaked through to the skin. Humiliation burned hot beneath my collar. I stood rooted to the cold tile floor for a few agonizing seconds, my chest heaving as I tried to force my erratic breathing back into a steady rhythm. When the panic finally began to recede, I dug my phone out of my small bag with trembling fingers. My first instinct was Genevieve.

Pulling up our chat, I typed out a frantic message:Can you come to the bathroom?

Her response blinked onto the screen almost instantly:Are you okay?

I stared at the glowing letters, my throat tight.

I'm fine. Just come please.

Only a few minutes dragged by before a sharp knock echoed against the wood, followed by the sound of footsteps shuffling outside. The door clicked open, and Genevieve slipped inside, closing it tight against the muffled bass of the house. The second her eyes landed on me, her breezy party expression vanished entirely, replaced by a sharp, protective focus.

"Oh, Wynter."

I looked down miserably at my dripping, ruined clothes and the carefully applied makeup leaking down my face.

"I got splashed."

Her gaze swept over the clinging, soaked silk of my dress before snapping back to meet my eyes. "I can see that."

A small, self-deprecating laugh slipped past my lips, thick with humiliation. "I think I want to go home." Genevieve didn't hesitate. Her posture firmed instantly.

"Okay."

I looked up, blinking back a sudden prickle of heat behind my eyelids. "You don't have to."

"I know," she said quietly.

She pulled off her jacket and draped it over my shoulders, partially concealing my drenched dress before meeting my eyes again.

"But I'm ready to go."

I studied her face, searching for any sign of disappointment. "You were having fun."

"I had fun," she insisted. She stepped closer, taking my cold, shaking hand and giving it a firm, grounding squeeze. "Now I'm ready to go home."

Something heavy and suffocating in my chest finally loosened. I offered a small, watery nod.

"Okay."

"Let's get you out of here." A soft, reassuring smile touched her lips. Together, we unlocked the door and slipped back into the hallway, moving against the tide of students as we left the chaos behind. When we stepped out into the cool night air, relief hit me in a clean, steady wave. I just felt safe. And right then, that was more than enough.