19. Sloane
Sloane
I ’ve known Scarlett Monroe since we were eleven and she kicked an eighth grader in the shins for calling Lena fat. She did it without hesitation, without blinking, and then walked away like she hadn’t just ruined a guy’s reputation and made herself a legend all in the same breath.
That’s the kind of girl Scarlett is.
Fierce. Fragile. Beautiful in the way that makes people stare and dangerous in the way that makes them stay.
And I’ve been protecting her ever since.
The three of us grew up tangled together like ivy. Backyard bonfires, thrift store runs, prom nights we swore we’d forget but didn’t. We’re stitched into each other, the kind of bond you can’t untangle no matter how far apart life tries to pull you.
And tonight? I saw it in Scarlett’s eyes the moment we came down the stairs. Scarlett sat down across the table, glowing in the black dress I made her wear. The one with the sheer sleeves and sharp lines that made her look like she didn’t give a fuck.
But I could tell she did.
She was holding it together with glitter and wine.
Dinner was perfect on the surface. The table looked like a scene out of a summer movie—candles flickering, soft music playing, Kane making dumb jokes about my playlist. Lena sat beside Scarlett, brushing her shoulder every few minutes.
Trace was watching. Quiet. Intense. Like he might say something reckless to see if she flinched.
Alden sat on the other side of her. The way he kept topping off her wine like it was his job said more than words ever could.
And I waited.
Because I knew it would happen. It always does.
“You’ve got them both wrapped around your finger,” Kane said with a grin, halfway through a bite of bread. “Queen Scarlett out here ruining friendships and making it look easy.”
Scarlett froze for half a second. Barely enough to notice unless you knew her.
But I did.
“That’s not funny,” I said sharply, fork clinking against my plate as I set it down.
Kane blinked at me. “What? It’s a joke.”
“Yeah, well, maybe don’t joke about shit you don’t understand.”
The table went still. Lenas eyes dropped to her lap. Scarlett kept her eyes on her wine glass.
And that’s when I felt it.
The shift.
Alden’s expression hardened. Trace shifted forward, tension coiled in his shoulders—seconds away from saying something reckless.
But they didn’t.
They didn’t need to.
Because I was already there.
“She didn’t ask for this,” I added, voice quieter now. “You think it’s easy having the whole world stare at you like you’re the problem when all you did was show up?”
“Alright, alright. My bad.” Kane raised his hands in surrender.
Scarlett didn’t say anything.
But when her hand brushed mine under the table, I squeezed back.
And that was enough.
Some girls are born with light. Scarlett was something older. As if the stars recognized her before we did.
And even if no one else saw it, I did.