I woke up with a pounding in my head and a weight in my chest.
Sunlight pushed its way through the curtains, too bright, too unforgiving. I blinked up at the celling, groaning softly as memories of last night flooded in.
The ballroom.
Damian.
His voice. His face. The way his eyes locked on mine like he hadn't seen me in years, like he had no idea why I'd vanished.
I rolled over with a sign and buried my face in the pillow.
I should've never gone.
My phone buzzed from the nightstand. Once. Twice. A pause . Then again, like whoever it was didn't plan to stop.
I reached for it reluctantly and groaned when I saw the caller ID.
Sharon.
Of course.
I swiped to answer, already bracing myself.
"Before you yell," I mumbled, voice hoarse, I know I disappeared.
"You think?" Sharon snapped. "You vanished in the middle of the ballroom like someone set you on fire! You had people looking for you.
"I didn't ask anyone to look."
"I was people," she shot back. Sienna, what the hell happened? One second you were standing there staring holes into Damian's soul, and the next you were gone."
I sat up slowly, pushing my curls back from my face. "I couldn't stay."
"Yeah no kidding. I'm five minutes away. Don't even think about locking the door."
She hung up before I could argue.
I let the phone fall beside me with a sigh. Of all the people who knew me, Sharon was the one who never let me hide. Especially not from the truth.
And truthfully? I don't want to talk about Damian. Or the way his voice still echoed in my ears. Or how seeing him again made me feel like a nineteen years old girl with her heart in her hands, begging someone not to drop it.
Ten minutes later, Sharon let herself in with the spare key she still hadn't given back.
She stepped into my room, eye sweeping over me, arms folded like a disapproving mother.
"Well," she said, " you look like hell."
"I feel worse," I muttered.
"Good. That means you're still human." She flopped down beside me. " Now talk." What happened between you and Damian.
I looked away, my fingers knotting the bedsheet. " I don't want to talk about it."
She was quiet for a second. "That bad?"
I nodded once. The lump in my throat made it hard to speak.
She didn't press. That's the thing about Sharon. She knew when to push_ and when to just be there.
"Okay," she said softly. "You don't have to." Not now.
I glanced at her, grateful. Her gaze was steady but warm.
"I'm not gonna pretend I didn't see the way you looked at him, sienna. Or the way he looked at you. There's history there. Deep,messy, unfinished."
I didn't answer, because she was right.
But I'm here, she added, tucking her legs beneath her. " Whenever you feel like talking. Even if it's just to cry or scream or curse his name to hell and back. I'm not going anywhere."
The weight in my chest loosened a little.
"Thanks," I whispered.
She smiled, bumping her shoulder against mine. "Besides if he hurt you, I already have three curse words and a drink thrown in his face rehearsed and ready."
A quiet laugh escaped me. " You'd really throw a drink at him?"
"Absolutely. Preferably red wine. Stains best."
I shook my head, but the smile stayed longer than expected. Sharon didn't need to say much. Just knowing she was here _really here_ meant everything.
And for now, that was enough.