Page 84 of Steel Beauty

She laughs softly, seemingly unfazed. “We had some good times, didn’t we?” Her hand slides down my arm, her touch deliberate, testing. “And I’m sure you must miss what only I can give you.”

It’s just like Celeste to think she has a magical pussy.

“Celeste, some things are better left in the past. You’re one of them.”

Her confident smile falters for a moment before she smooths it over, charm snapping neatly back into place. She steps closer, her voice dropping to a low murmur, clearly aiming to create an air of intimacy. “Maybe we should slip away for a bit. I could remind you of what you’ve been missing.”

My patience thins. “Not interested.”

Her smile tightens, a crack in her polished exterior starting to show. “Why not?” She tilts her head as her gaze sharpens. “Are you seeing someone?”

The question hangs between us, her eyes probing for a reaction.

“Does it matter?”

She narrows her eyes, her forced casualness slipping. “Guess that’s a yes then.”

Now is the perfect moment to end this conversation. “Celeste, I really should get going.” I step around her, heading toward the edge of the room.

And then I see him.

Tyson McRae.

He’s across the room, laughing with a group, his demeanor as casual and carefree as if the past had never happened. The sight of him makes my pulse spike, anger surging through me in a wave so intense I can barely breathe.

My heart pounds with every bitter thought, every reminder of what he stole from me. Seeing him so at ease, so smug, while I’m haunted by the aftermath of his actions, twists something deep in my gut. My fists curl tightly before I even realize it.

Our eyes meet, and for a moment, something cold flashes across his face. Then his mouth curves into a slow smirk. He starts toward me, his steps deliberate, his confidence rolling off him like a challenge.

“Sebring, didn’t expect to see you here. Finally grew the balls to stop hiding, did you? So, tell me—what’s it like watching from the stands, mate? Tough luck, eh?” Every word drips with mocking sympathy.

My jaw tightens, the muscles in my neck straining as I fight the urge to respond. Every instinct screams at me to wipe that smirk off his face with one solid blow, but I force myself to stay still. I can’t give him what he wants.

He leans in closer, his words dropping to a near whisper that carries a serrated edge. “Should’ve been more careful out there on the field.” His smirk sharpens into something outright malicious.

A flash of rage blinds me, my fists clenching so tightly that my nails bite into my palms. Every nerve in my body screams to shut him up, to silence his smug arrogance with one decisive move. But I breathe through it, steadying myself. I won’t let him win—not like this.

Butfuck, it takes everything in me to hold back.

I step away, forcing myself out of the moment before the anger consumes me. As I push through the crowd, the noise swells, the space feels tighter, and the walls seem to close in around me. Memories and fury twist together, coiling tighter with each step until it feels like my skin might split from the pressure. Each breath comes harder, heavier, the burn beneath my skin refusing to fade no matter how hard I try to shake it off.

It’s overwhelming—every ache of what I’ve lost, every sneer and memory stirred up by being here, by seeing him. I stop, dragging a hand through my hair, trying to steady myself as my pulse races. The edge feels dangerously close, sharp and impossible to ignore.

And then, cutting through the haze, one thought steadies me with startling clarity.

Charleston.

Her name alone shifts something inside me, steadying me in a way nothing else can. She’s the only one who could pull me back from this. Before I fully realize it, my fingers are already reaching for my phone. I tap the microphone icon and bring my phone to my mouth. “I hate it here. I wish you were with me.”

I send the text, my heart pounding. Hearing from her is the only thing that might pull me from the anger and regret consuming me.

Her response comes almost instantly, and the tightness in my chest begins to ease as her words appear on the screen.

Are you okay?

No.

I’m here for you. Come to the penthouse when you leave… if you feel like it.

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