Page 35 of Celestial Combat

Then he was gone.

Something inside me curled tight.

Shame?

Embarrassment?

Anger?

All of the above?

My throat burned. I felt my fingers tighten into fists at my sides.

My eyes stung.

I turned on my heel and walked out ofPython, stepping into the sun outside, gasping for air.

I checked my phone. Trevor and Natalia were at Columbia’s library. Maybe seeing them would make me feel better.

I forced my breathing to steady, wiped at my face before the tears could smudge my makeup.

I’d sworn no man would ever make me cry again. And here I was. Again.

If I wasn’t going to be strong yet, I could at least look like I was.

The sun hung heavy over Long Island, spilling molten gold across the vast estate like an artist had tipped their brush too far. The pool stretched before us, a deep cerulean oasis against the stark white stone of Francesca’s family mansion. Water lapped lazily against the edges, the only thing moving in the thick summer air. I was perched on the edge, dipping my legs into the coolness, letting the contrast settle deep into my bones.

Francesca lay stretched out on a pool lounger, her platinum blonde hair spilling over the chair’s edge like silk. A year older than me, she looked effortlessly glamorous, even in nothing but a tiny crimson bikini and oversized Prada sunglasses. A glass of some expensive, imported wine rested beside her, condensation dripping down its crystal edges.

I sipped on a cold glass of sparkling water, shifting under the shade of the umbrella. Even after getting my makeover –everything– I still felt like I was wearing a mask.

“You look better,” Francesca noted, tipping her sunglasses down slightly to study me.

“Trying,” I said.

She hummed, like she wasn’t completely convinced, but she let it go.

We had always been close. Our friendship was built on sharp edges – late nights, whispered secrets, an unspoken understanding that we were both born into worlds that didn’t allow for weakness.

“Tony’s been acting up again,” She said suddenly, rolling her shoulders back as if justmentioninghim gave her a headache.

I glanced at her, raising a brow. “What’d he do this time?”

Francesca exhaled, dragging a hand through her damp hair.“Got caught at a fight club a couple nights ago.”

I sat up slightly. “A fight club?”

She nodded, lips pressing together in irritation.“Not some dumb rich kid basement bullshit either. Anactual underground circuit. Bare-knuckle. Grown men. The whole thing.”

I blinked, surprised. “And?”

Francesca pulled off her sunglasses, black doe eyes gleaming. “He won. Against a thirty-something-year-old undefeated champion.”

I blinked. “You’re kidding.”

“Knocked him out cold with one punch.”

That made me pause. “One punch?”

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