The car streaks through the night, a dark blur against the city lights.
Too fast. Too reckless.
The engine growls low and hungry beneath me. My hands grip the steering wheel like I'm holding onto the last piece of myself.
Knuckles white. Veins raised beneath the skin. Streetlights blur past—golden smears against the darkness, bleeding into one another.
My parents don't really care about me.
The thought doesn't arrive gently. It never does anymore. It claws its way up from somewhere deep—somewhere I've been trying to seal shut for weeks.
They don't see me. They've never seen me. Not the real me. All they see is him.
Him.
Silas.
Their perfect prince.
The thought burns, settling deep in my chest like a coal that refuses to die. It glows there, constant, feeding on everything I am.
And it makes me want to turn that Beta's life into hell.
He's staying at my place.
