The party was alive with energy, a chaotic mix of flashing lights, pulsing bass, and the dull roar of drunken conversations. It was the kind of scene Akane usually thrived in—the kind where her name passed from lip to lip, where her presence commanded the room without her needing to say a single word. But tonight, the usual thrill of being at the top of the social hierarchy meant nothing to her.

She wasn't here to bask in admiration or to entertain the crowd that constantly vied for her attention. She was here for him.

Her amber eyes scanned the room, effortlessly tuning out the bodies pressing against one another, the scent of expensive alcohol, the lingering heat of too many people packed into one space. And then—she spotted him.

He was standing in the corner, shoulders tense, half-empty drink dangling from his fingers. People swarmed around him, like moths drawn to the dying glow of a flame. They spoke to him, laughed too loudly, acted like everything was fine. But it wasn't. Nothing was fine, and anyone with half a brain could see it.

Akane's gaze flicked across the room, and there she was—Shiho.

The traitor. The liar. The woman who had shattered him.

Shiho lingered on the other side of the room, a drink in her manicured hand, her body angled away from him, but her eyes? Her eyes were watching him, darting over to him every few seconds when she thought no one would notice. The sight made Akane's blood run cold. The audacity of that bitch—to be here, to still watch him like she had the fucking right to. To act like she wasn't the reason he looked like he was barely keeping himself together.

Akane didn't hesitate.

She strode forward, her heels clicking against the polished floor, parting the crowd effortlessly. People noticed her then—of course they did. The Queen Bee never moved without turning heads. But tonight, their admiration was irrelevant. She didn't slow, didn't acknowledge the drunk whispers calling her name, the way students shifted to give her space.

She was singular in her focus. Him.

Reaching him, she barely paused before plucking the drink from his fingers, setting it down on the nearby table without a second glance.

"That's enough."

Her voice was low, but firm, the kind of tone that demanded obedience. Not because she expected him to listen—no, Akane knew he wasn't the type to be controlled—but because she needed him to know she was here. That someone was still on his side. That someone was watching out for him when he was too tired, too broken, to do it himself.

She leaned in slightly, her perfume a subtle contrast to the stench of alcohol and sweat clinging to the air around them. Her sharp, hypnotic gaze locked onto his, unwavering, unrelenting.

"You can let them drown you in empty words, pretend like none of this matters," she murmured, tilting her head slightly, "or you can come with me. Get some air. Get away from all these people who don't actually give a damn about you."

She wasn't begging. She wasn't pleading. Akane Ueno didn't do that.

But there was something softer beneath the weight of her words. A silent offering. A hand extended in the dark.