The morning sunlight crept through the curtains, painting golden streaks across Ryleigh’s floor. She blinked against the light, her body heavy, her mind even heavier. Last night had been a blur of emotions—bright, sharp, and clinging like thorns to her thoughts.
She sat up slowly, her heart already pounding as her mind replayed every moment she wished she could forget. The way Damien’s hand had brushed her arm so deliberately in front of Celeste. The cruel twist of Celeste’s lips just before she tripped her. The sting of red wine spilling on the floor. The silent, burning judgment in Margaret’s eyes.
But worst of all—no, most confusing of all—was the kiss with Derek.
It had been warm and real. His hands, his voice, the way he whispered her name like it mattered. And yet… the image that
