Chapter 4
FOUR
HANNAH
“You’re not on the list.”
The jacked man standing in front of me says words I’ve never heard.
“Can I see that?” He pulls back when I reach for the phone in his hand. Taking a breath, I stand taller, remembering my goal. “Hannah Alfonso,” I repeat my name again. “And since when did the Rowens get a guard?”
The tall man folds his bulky arms, standing his ground as a couple of students from SBU approach him. Giddy girls dressed in black latex open their purses for Roidy to inspect before he lets them through with a throw of his thumb. Looking down at my crystal sequinned mini, I’m way off dress code.
“Tell you what, cutie.” Reaching into my clutch, I pull out a couple of hundreds. “You pretend like my name’s on that list and I’ll up your hourly rate.” Without another word, he takes it and steps aside, opening the large swivelling door.
I keep my head high as I enter the Rowen home, but when I do, it’s hard to keep my jaw from dropping. It’s not uncommon for Rye to host parties at his parents’ mansion, but this is far from the usual soiree.
Two red silks hang from the ceiling, performers wrapped in them.
Red lights cast shadows from the glimmering chandelier, so does the flicker of flames from gold candles.
Servers with white masks hold golden trays of champagne next to small bowls with tiny pills.
People I recognize from campus mingle in leather and latex.
I’ve been to a lot of parties, but this one is different. Very different.
Eyes land on me as the bass-heavy music drowns the click of my heels. They’re already whispering my name. Ignoring them, I scan the room for my friends, but I don’t see them. So I move to the next room behind a red velvet curtain.
The decor’s more intense here, the entire room gutted and replaced with furniture I’ve never seen at the Rowen's. Red spotlights pool over metal cages, girls dancing to the music in them. Plush sofas line the walls, draped with bodies in various positions I’ve only seen in porn.
Some partygoers have whips in their hands. Some have paddles. Others have rope.
What the hell did I walk into?
More guests whisper to each other as I pass them, my skin heating as I move through the room. It’s not the attention I’m used to getting. It’s definitely not the attention I worked for. So how do I make them stop? How do I—
My feet slow when my eyes land on him. The back of him, anyway.
Everything slows, the music muffles, and I hate the way my breath shallows.
His dark hair shines under the dull lights as I watch him turn towards the cages, a crystal glass in his hand.
He runs his free hand through his hair like he’s in an ad for Calvin Klein, those cheekbones as sharp as his stare.
His clothes fit the party, his silky black hanbok gleaming under the dim lights.
His bare chest peeks through the ‘v’ of his collar, showcasing the sculpted outline of his pecs.
He knows how to take pieces from his culture and make them high fashion.
Even when he pairs it with fitted silky boxers that outline his length.
My head tilts to one side. Is it really that long?
Squeezing my eyes shut, I push the image out of my head.
As usual, he’s surrounded by The Crowns.
The three of them lounge around velvet sofas in a roped-off area set in the middle of the room.
My posse sits near them, but they don’t even notice me as they soak up the perks of Hill royalty I brought them into.
They're too focused on a throne in the middle, someone sitting in it.
I squint, but I can’t see who it is. I only see long legs in fishnets and a pair of black stiletto boots.
Something pushes me forward. A stumbling student with a sparkling flute of champagne.
I expect a quick apology, but instead, she glances between me and the VIP section like a kid wondering which parent to side with.
Her eyes lock with mine in an almost apologetic way before she continues bringing the glass towards The Crowns.
Mac and Ember move out of the way, giving me a clearer view of who sits on that throne.
A slender girl with an impeccable black and grey bob.
She looks both bored and comfortable. Too put together to be one of Ember’s friends from The Valley.
Pretty, but too unbothered to be a groupie.
Before I can figure out why she looks familiar, the student who bumped into me brings that glass right to her.
Fire builds in my chest. Whoever that is doesn’t just get to be there. That place is earned.
Bass pumping in my ears, I approach the throne as Rye turns towards the bar at the back of the room.
My mouth opens, wanting to call to him before my eyes snap back to what’s supposed to be my group of friends.
Moving closer to the group, I squeeze between Gray and Mac and just as I’m about to pull the glass out of this imposter’s hand, something cold grabs my wrist.
“Not a chance.” That bold, low voice fills my ear. Mac’s.
Finally, my friends look at me. The girl on the throne does too. She’s prettier up close, her skincare on point. She looks more familiar now. But I don’t care.
“What the hell?” I ask, looking at my posse, who all look at me like I don’t belong here. “Did you guys ditch me for her?”
“Hannah, hey.” The girl on the throne speaks to me like we’re friends, black lipstick shining. “I’m Krystal, Ryung’s sister.” I blink, my eyes narrowing on her thick eyeliner. The black beret. She’s a contrast to me. An intruder. “Remember, we used to—”
“You can’t be here, Hannah.” Mac cuts her off.
“I’m not in the mood for your boyish angst, Malcolm.
” Looking past him, I look at my girls, my posse, who don’t even pretend to have my back.
Marisol fixes Krystal’s beret, smoothing her hair like her personal stylist. Zurie sits back, watching my embarrassment while Chloe seems way too into the music to care.
“Why are we all acting like I’m Ember last year? ”
“Hey!” Now Ember pipes up.
“You have to leave,” Mac says.
“The hell I do.”
“You do,” Gray says, a stumble in his stance. “Ryung’s orders, and it’s his house.”
“Tonight’s my night. He knows that.” Looking at the girls, I beg for some semblance of normalcy. “You all know that.”
“Doesn’t look like it’s your night,” Gray chuckles.
Looking over my shoulder, Ryung’s guests all have their eyes on us. “You guys have had your fun. Can we ditch this sad Playboy party and go to Sun House for our usual?”
“We’re staying here tonight,” Marisol says. Her hair’s darker today, her makeup a clear copy of one of my favourite looks. A glittery cat-eye and glossy nude lips.
Glancing over my shoulder, the crowd’s still watching. “Guys, c’mon. You can’t stay.”
“We can,” Marisol bites back. “You can’t.”
“But—”
“I suggest you leave, Hannah.” Mac interrupts my plea as if begging isn’t humiliating enough. “Trust me. Or you won’t like it.”
Excuse me? “Is that a threat?”
“Mac,” Ember finally calls to her boyfriend as he takes a step towards me, towering over me in his black silk robe. He’s built like his friends. Muscular and menacing. “Be nice.”
Fuck that. I’m not backing down. “What won’t I like, Malcolm?”
“Don’t fuck around, Hannah.” Gray leans in with a pretend whisper. “We’ll blacklist you.” Outcasted. Forgotten. Rejected. The ultimate punishment.
I almost laugh at his words. “It’s me. You can’t do that.”
Mac arches a brow like I’m testing him. Signalling the DJ, the music cuts and if people weren’t staring before, they sure as hell are now.
“Sorry to interrupt your evening,” Mac says, raising his voice as he addresses Rye’s guests. “But we, The Crown, have an important announcement to make.”
“Don’t.” I keep my voice low as I look around.
Mac continues, “As of today, Hannah Alfonso is—”
“Stop!” I yell, my hand slapping over his mouth.
Ember gives me a look before Mac shoves my hand away.
“This is pathetic. You don't deserve my presence.” I give my posse one last chance. “Ladies?” Marisol whispers something to Krystal, but no one moves. And when I glance at Ember, someone who knows what it feels like to be on the outside, she gives me an apologetic shrug. My eyes move back to Krystal. “Enjoy the spotlight. It won’t last.”
The music resumes as my cheeks burn, but I’m not about to show weakness. Not now. So I turn towards the exit and shove my hand in my clutch for my bedazzled lighter. I made a promise to quit smoking, but tonight changes that.
Who the hell does Krystal think she is? Who does Ryung think he is?
After everything, this is all it takes for my friends to abandon me?
Moving through the curtain into the foyer, my shaking body stills, my grip tight on my lighter.
A tall, broad figure moves toward the other side of the foyer, those dark eyes catching the candlelight.
Rye.
Hands in his pockets, he moves into a nearby room like he hasn’t a care in the world. Like he didn’t just have his crew threaten me.
Looking over my shoulder, I make sure the Crowns don’t see me as I move towards the room he entered. The heat in my chest rises to the surface of my skin, my dress sticking to my body as I get closer.
“Leave Ryung alone.”
Not when he’s going for my crown.
My hand lands on the golden doorknob, a large thump in my chest.
I haven’t spoken to him since the gallery, and I still haven’t texted him back. I know what I did, but he deserved it.
I don’t deserve this.
Without another second to think, I slip into the room, ready to face the devil behind the door.