Page 96 of Endo

Cece’s wearing a bright red bikini, cut high on the hips and tied with little strings on the sides. She tosses her hair over her shoulder, her hips swaying as she walks. If Lena was a storm on stage, Cece’s all fire, every step demanding attention and soaking up the cheers from the crowd.

“Cece, baby!” Revel hollers, cupping his hands around his mouth like he’s at a sports game. “Looking good up there,mami!”

“Revel, sit the fuck down,” Sayshen mutters, though he’s grinning, clearly enjoying the show.

Revel just smirks, shrugging as he raises his beer. “What? I’m just appreciating the talent. Can’t blame me for noticing perfection, and Cece, in that bikini, fucking golden.”

Talon leans closer to Wolfe, muttering loud enough for everyone to hear. “Think he’s gonna need a cold shower after this.”

“More like an ice bath,” Wolfe replies, smirking.

The banter barely registers because my focus is still on Lena. The rest of the show passes in a blur—models coming and going, the music changing, the crowd cheering at all the right moments—but my head’s stuck on her. How she looked up there. How she owned the room like it was hers.

By the time the last model steps out, followed by Bexley, the room erupts into applause. The Demons cheer louder than anyone, whistling and hollering like lunatics. Bexley grins like she’s just conquered the world, her hands waving at the crowd as she takes her bow.

The lights come up, and people start moving around, snapping pictures and patting each other on the back. I push through the crowd, heading for the backstage entrance. The bouquet of flowers in my hand feels ridiculous. Is it too much, too soft? Maybe, but I don’t care. I need to see her.

When I finally find her, she’s standing by a rack of clothes, her back to me. The bikini’s gone, and she’s back in her usual jeans and a tank top, her hair loose around her shoulders. She’s talking to Bexley, gesturing with her hands in that animated way she gets when she’s excited.

Then she stops mid-sentence, her body going still before she turns to face me.

For a second, it’s just us. Her staring at me. Me staring at her. And all I can think is how that girl—the one who owned the runway like it was her throne—ismine.

“Reign? What are you doing back here?” Her voice is soft, almost hesitant, and it sends a pang through my chest.

I step closer, holding out the flowers. “For you.”

She blinks, surprised, before taking them. “Thanks,” she says, her fingers brushing mine for the briefest moment. “You didn’t have to?—”

“I wanted to.” My voice is rougher than I intended, but I push on. “There’s... something else, too.”

Her brows knit together in confusion as I reach into my jacket and pull out the mug. It’s not perfect. The cracks are still visible, thin lines of glue tracing its surface—but it’s whole. And it’s hers.

Her breath catches, her eyes going wide. “You... you fixed it?”

I nod, my throat tightening as I try to find the right words. “The morning we found your place trashed, I saw it. The pieces were in that box on the counter. I... I don’t know, I just couldn’t leave it there. So I tucked it into my bag.”

Her hands tremble as she reaches for the mug, cradling it like it’s something precious. “Reign, I?—”

“I know it’s not the same,” I cut in, my voice rough, “and you won’t be able to drink out of it anymore, but... I figured you’d want to have it back. Even if it’s just to keep.”

She stares down at it, her fingers tracing the cracks gently, like she’s afraid it might fall apart again. “You didn’t have to do this,” she whispers, her voice shaky.

“I know,” I reply, my tone softer now. “But I wanted to. I know how much it meant to you.”

Her eyes lift to meet mine, and for a moment, she just looks at me, her expression a mix of gratitude and something deeper, something I can’t quite name. “It’s perfect,” she says finally, her voice breaking.

And in that moment, seeing her hold the mug like it’s the most important thing in the world, I know I made the right call.

Her eyes fill with tears, and for a moment, I think she’s going to say something, but then Bexley calls her name, breaking the spell.

“We’re celebrating at the beach house,” Bexley announces, grinning as she strides over. “Burgers, beers, the usual. You’re coming, right?”

Lena hesitates, glancing at me, and I nod. “We’ll be there.”

As we leave the venue, I can’t shake the feeling that something’s shifted between us. Something important. And for the first time in a long time, I feel like we’re moving toward something instead of running from it.

Talon& Sayshen’s beach house buzzes with life, the smell of grilling meat mixing with the salty tang of the ocean. The speakers spread out around the deck pumping music so loud the people gathered down on the beach can probably feel the base thrumming through them. Cece pulls Bex by the wrist into the makeshift dance floor they’ve claimed near the firepit in the center of the large deck.

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