Ashes & Roses

Chapter 19

Carsin 'Sin' Saint Clair

I made sure to leave Veronica's apartment before she woke up, the sheets still warm where I'd been, the air still thick with the scent of her perfume and our sweat. The day was bleeding out by the time Luca and I parked across from the dormitories. Night had settled over campus in layers, the last strip of daylight clinging to the horizon between the buildings while the streetlamps had already flickered awake, throwing pale circles across the sidewalks. Students moved through them in clusters, laughing, talking, heading toward dinner or parties or whatever else college kids did when they weren't buried beneath assignments.

I sat behind the wheel with the driver's seat pushed back, one hand resting loosely against the steering wheel while smoke curled lazily toward the ceiling. Luca sat in the passenger seat, his window cracked open despite the cold, his knuckles white as he gripped the door handle.

"You sure this is the plan?" he asked, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of the engine, his eyes fixed on the dorm entrance.

"You've asked me that six times." I exhaled slowly, watching the smoke disappear through the open window, my own reflection a ghost in the windshield.

"And you've given me six different versions of 'yes,'" he countered, his jaw tight with tension.

"I'm going to talk to her." I glanced at him, taking in the tense set of his jaw, the way his leg bounced with nervous energy.

"And I'm going to talk to Zaelen."

"Exactly."

Luca took another drag from his cigarette, the cherry glowing in the dim light, and stared through the windshield at the dorm entrance. "Still think he'll give us another week?"

"No."

"Good," he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Because I'd hate to be the only one worried about getting my ass handed to me."

A humorless smile tugged at my mouth. "You're not."

He chuckled under his breath and leaned his head against the seat, his eyes closing for a moment. For a few minutes, neither of us said anything. The radio played quietly beneath the hum of the idling engine. Every few seconds, students crossed in front of the car, none of them paying attention to us. That was the point. Parked far enough away to look like any other car waiting for someone. Close enough that I could see the dorm entrance without binoculars.

I checked the time. Then checked it again, my fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on the steering wheel.

"She's usually out around now," I muttered, more to myself than to him. Luca glanced at me, his eyes narrowed.

"You memorized her schedule?"

"I followed her all day yesterday," I admitted, my voice flat.

"That's not an answer."

I gave him a look that should have ended the conversation, my eyes hard and unyielding.

He laughed, a low, rumbling sound that did little to ease the tension.

"Relax, Sin. I'm just saying."

"I'm relaxed."

"You've been staring at that door for twenty minutes," he pointed out, his voice laced with amusement.

"I've been watching the entrance."

"Same thing."

I rolled my eyes and reached for the cigarette between my fingers, tapping the ash into the tray, the small pile growing with each passing minute. The truth was, I wasn't relaxed. I'd spent the entire day thinking about this conversation. How I would approach her. What I would say. How I could get her to tell me what happened without making her panic. Wynter didn't strike me as someone who handled pressure well. I'd watched her apologize when strangers bumped into her. Watched her shrink into herself when the hallway got too crowded. She was quiet. Careful. But there had been another side of her at that first party. The girl who threw a drink in Zaelen's face. The girl who walked away without looking back. That girl was still in there somewhere. I just needed to figure out which version of her I was going to meet tonight. Luca shifted beside me, his seat creaking softly.

"How are you planning on doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"Talking to her."

"I'll figure it out." I stared ahead, my gaze fixed on the dorm entrance, my knuckles white on the steering wheel.

"That's comforting," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"She'll either tell me she has the money or she won't."

"And if she says she doesn't?"

"Then I believe her until she gives me a reason not to."

Luca turned his head toward me, his eyes serious, his earlier amusement gone.

"You've gotten soft."

I laughed once, a sharp, humorless sound that echoed in the small space of the car.

"No. I've gotten tired."

"Same difference."

Before I could answer, movement near the dorm entrance caught my attention. I straightened, my body tensing, my heart rate picking up. There. A familiar head of dark curls appeared beneath the glow of the entryway. My eyes narrowed. The girl stepped outside, adjusting the strap of a pink-stained duffle bag hanging from her shoulder. Ballet clothes. Again. Soft fabric. Leg warmers. Her hair pulled back enough to keep it out of her face, though loose curls had already escaped around her temples.

She looked smaller from this distance. More fragile. But I knew better than to mistake quiet for helpless. My fingers tightened around the steering wheel, the leather groaning under the pressure.

"There."

"That's her?" Luca followed my line of sight, his eyes narrowing.

"That's her."

"She's cute." He watched her for a few seconds, then a quiet chuckle escaped him, his lips curving into a smirk.

"We can worry about finding you a girlfriend another time." My jaw clenched, a muscle jumping in my cheek. I rolled my eyes and looked back at him, my voice cold.

"Wasn't asking for one." Luca grinned, unrepentant, his eyes still fixed on Wynter.

"Good."

I killed the cigarette and opened my door, the cool night air rushing into the car, chasing away the stale smoke. Luca grabbed the handle of his own door.

"I'll call you when I'm done with Zaelen."

I nodded, my eyes already back on Wynter's retreating form.

"And Luca?"

He paused, his hand on the door handle.

"Don't let him talk you into anything stupid."

"Right." He laughed as he stepped out, the sound quickly swallowed by the night.

I shut my door and looked across the street. Wynter was already walking away from the dorm, her figure moving steadily down the sidewalk. And this time, I wasn't going to follow her from a distance. I was going to make her see me.

The studio was almost completely dark, the air thick with the scent of rosin and sweat, illuminated only by the soft wash of overhead lights and the ethereal glow spilling across the mirrors. Music filled the room, a haunting piano melody that seemed to wrap around the shadows. And in the center of it all, Wynter danced like nobody was watching. She had pulled the curtains closed hours ago, shutting out the campus and everything beyond the glass. No students passing by. No curious eyes. No conversations bleeding through the walls. Just her. The music. And the floor beneath her feet.

I stayed in the doorway with my hood pulled over my head, one hand resting against the frame and the other gripping the strap of her original red duffle bag. She hadn't noticed me. That was the first thing I realized. The second was that she looked completely different when she danced. It I'd spent the entire day watching her walk through campus with her shoulders slightly rounded, apologizing when people bumped into her, keeping her eyes lowered. This girl didn't apologize for anything. Her body moved with a confidence I'd never seen from her anywhere else, a fluid grace that was almost predatory. She turned once, twice, again, the skirt of her practice clothes sweeping around her thighs before settling against her legs as she came down from the turn. My eyes lingered, tracing the line of her body, the way the thin fabric of her leotard clung to her breasts, the curve of her hips, the long, lean muscle of her thighs. Her curls bounced with every movement, loose strands sticking to her forehead from sweat. She didn't look eighteen when she danced. She looked older. Certain. Like the music belonged to her and the rest of the world had simply been invited to watch. I stayed quiet, letting her dance, letting her forget she was alone. Then she turned again. And caught me in the mirror.

Her entire body stopped. The music kept playing for another second before she scrambled toward the remote and shut it off. Silence swallowed the room. She stood there breathing hard, one hand resting against her chest, the frantic beat of her heart visible beneath the thin fabric of her leotard. Then she looked at me through the mirror. Her eyes widened. Slowly, she turned around.

"Hi." Her voice was soft, almost apologetic, her hands clasped in front of her like a nervous child. "I'm sorry, but no one is allowed in here past five."

I didn't answer, my expression unreadable. I pushed myself away from the doorframe, my movements deliberate, each step echoing in the sudden silence. Her eyes followed me as I walked farther into the studio. One step. Then another. The duffle bag hung from my shoulder. Her gaze dropped to it, her brow furrowing in confusion. I stopped several feet away.

"I'm just here returning what's yours."

I swung the bag from my shoulder and tossed it across the floor. It hit harder than I intended, the sound echoing through the empty studio. The bag slid across the polished floor until it stopped against her feet. Wynter flinched, her eyes dropping to it, then back to me. For a moment she didn't move, like she was trying to figure out whether touching it was safe. Finally, she crouched down and unzipped the bag, her fingers trembling slightly.

Her face changed immediately. Her pointe shoes. Dance clothes. The little things she'd lost without even knowing where they'd gone. She reached inside and pulled the shoes free, staring down at them like she'd been handed something precious.

"Oh my..." Her smile appeared before she could stop it, her relief palpable. "Thank you so much. I can't even begin—"

"Let's cut the shit." The smile disappeared, her eyes widening in shock. I started walking toward her, my steps slow and deliberate. "You have my bag."

Her fingers tightened around the pointe shoes, her knuckles white.

"I returned yours." I spat.

"And I think it's only fair you return mine."

"All of it..” Her breathing changed. I could see it. The subtle rise of her chest. The way her shoulders stiffened.

"I—I don't understand." She stood slowly, her eyes searching my face, her expression a mixture of confusion and dawning horror.

"You will."

She backed up. Just one step. Then another. Her eyes flicked toward the door. I noticed. Of course I noticed. She was already calculating the distance. The exits. Me. I stopped walking.

"Where's my bag, Wynter?"

Her lips parted, her voice trembling.

"I don't have—"

She moved. Fast. She turned toward the door, clutching the pointe shoes against her chest. I caught her before she made it two steps. My hands closed around her forearms, my grip tight. She gasped, her eyes wide with fear.

"Don't do that." I shoved her back not hard enough to hurt her, but enough to stop her momentum and stepped between her and the door. She stumbled backward, her eyes wide. Now I could see it. Fear. Real fear. Not the nervousness I'd watched all day. Not shyness. Fear.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly beneath her practice clothes, her fingers still locked around those pink shoes like they were the only thing she had left to hold onto. I stared at her. She stared back. Neither of us spoke. Then, quieter than before, I said,

"Where's my money?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." She shook beneath my hands, her body trembling.The words barely made it past her lips, her voice a choked whisper.

I released her arms, but I didn't move away. Instead, I took several slow steps forward, closing the space she'd tried so desperately to create.

"Don't insult my f*****g intelligence, okay?" I sneered. Her back nearly met the mirror. "I'm not here to hurt you." I paused, letting the threat hang in the air. "But I'm not above it." Her eyes widened, her fear palpable.

"Where is my money?" The question came out quieter this time. Somehow, that seemed to make it worse. She looked everywhere except at me. The floor. The mirror. The pointe shoes crushed against her chest. Anywhere but my face. Then I noticed the tears. They were already sliding down her cheeks, silent tracks of moisture. I stared at them for a second, caught off guard by the sight. She shook her head rapidly, her curls bouncing.

"I didn't mean to take it." Her voice cracked, the words barely audible. "I just wanted to leave the party, and our bags looked so closely alike and I didn't know and I—" She sucked in a shaky breath, her chest heaving. "I didn't know what to do."

I said nothing, my expression unreadable. She kept talking, her words tumbling over each other.

"My financial advisor, he—"

"Where is my money?" I interrupted, my voice cold.

"I didn't know what to do," she repeated, panic making the words tumble over one another. "I thought maybe someone had taken it or maybe I could just—"

"Wynter."

She didn't stop. "I didn't mean to steal it. I swear. I didn't even know what was in the bag until I got back to the studio and then there was all this cash and I—" My patience snapped.

"WHERE IS MY MONEY?" My voice exploded through the studio, the sound echoing off the mirrors. She jumped so violently that the pointe shoes nearly slipped from her hands. Silence followed. Her bottom lip trembled. For a second, I thought she wasn't going to answer. Then she whispered,

"It's gone."

"What?" Everything inside me went still. Her eyes finally lifted to mine, tears clinging to her lashes.

"It's gone."

I stared at her, my mind racing. She swallowed hard, her throat working.

"I don't have it anymore." The words settled between us. Five hundred thousand dollars. Gone. I took one slow breath through my nose, forcing myself to stay calm.

"Explain."

She shook her head, crying harder now, her shoulders shaking.

"I—I can't."

"Try."

"I don't know where it is." She said trembling. My jaw tightened, a muscle jumping in my cheek.

"You had half a million dollars in your possession, and now you're telling me you don't know where it is?"

"I didn't spend it!" she cried, her voice cracking.

"I didn't ask if you spent it."

She flinched, her body recoiling as if I'd struck her. I dragged a hand over my face, forcing myself to think. This wasn't how this was supposed to go. She was supposed to lie. She was supposed to deny having the bag. She was supposed to make me work for the truth. Instead, she was standing barefoot in a dance studio with tears running down her face, clutching a pair of pink pointe shoes like she needed them to keep herself upright. And somehow that made the whole situation worse.

"Then where is it?"

She opened her mouth. Nothing came out. I stepped closer, my shadow falling over her.

"Wynter."

She finally whispered, "I gave it away."

"I can explain." Her voice was barely audible, her eyes pleading. I didn't want to hear it. At this point, I didn't give a f**k about her explanation. Maybe it was true. Maybe it wasn't. Either way, it wasn't going to put my money back in my hands.

"At this point, I don't give a f**k about your sob stories that may not even be true.I want my money."

She shook her head quickly, tears spilling freely down her cheeks.

"I'm not lying." Her voice broke, the words choked with emotion. "Please. Just listen to me. I had no other choice—"

I stepped closer, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

"Get me my money, Wynter."

She went silent, her eyes wide with fear.

"I don't care how you do it." I watched her swallow, her throat working convulsively. "You have a week."

Her eyes lifted slowly to mine, her expression a mixture of fear and defiance. "I know where you sleep."

Her breathing hitched, a small gasp escaping her lips. "Where you eat."

Another step. "What classes you take."

She pressed her lips together, trying desperately to keep them from trembling. "If you run, I'll find you."

I let the silence stretch between us, the air thick with unspoken threats. "Do you understand?"

She nodded. Once. Small and terrified. I looked down at her for another second. She was trembling. Actually trembling. Her arms were wrapped around herself now, the pointe shoes still clutched against her chest, tears shining beneath the studio lights. My jaw tightened. I hated the feeling settling in my chest. I hadn't come here to scare her this badly. I'd come for my money. That's all. I stepped away, the distance between us feeling like a chasm. Wynter didn't move, her body frozen in place. I turned toward the door, shoved my hands into the pockets of my hoodie, and walked out of the studio without another word. The door closed behind me, the soft click echoing in the silence. And for the first time since I'd found her, I wasn't thinking about the five hundred thousand dollars. I was thinking about the look on her face when I'd screamed at her. I clenched my jaw. f**k. I kept walking, the sound of my footsteps echoing in the empty hallway.