We both burst out laughing just as Evan, Clay and Hunter storm into the kitchen.

“Who’s the friend, sis?” Evan asks. “And which party are you going to?”

“Sis?” Sammy questions.

Rolling my eyes I shake my head. “Ignore him, we’re not related. This is Evan, he is my mom’s new husband’s son. Then this is Clay and Hunter,” I point to them each in turn. “Guys, this is Sammy, she and I met on our way to orientation.”

“Harsh, sis, you couldn’t have just called me your stepbrother?” Evan smirks.

“No, I couldn’t.”

“So which party did you say it was?” Hunter asks, trying to sound nonchalant.

Sammy opens her mouth to tell them, but I interrupt. “Just some party some people in our history class invited us to.”

“And you’re wearing that?” Clay asks, waving his hand up and down, motioning to my dress.

The prickle of unbidden tears sparks to life in my eyes, but I blink them away. It shouldn’t be Clay asking about my dress in a disapproving tone, it should be Sebastian. He wouldn’t let me wear a white tank because he thought other guys would see my nipples through it, yet I’m here in a dress so tight my thong might as well be dental floss it’s so tiny, and he hasn’t said a word. He’s not even here, because he doesn’t care.

“Don’t worry, you can borrow it another night,” I snap, finishing my bottle off and then looking expectantly at Sammy. “You ready?”

“Sure,” she nods, a hint of confusion in her expression. Without asking me what’s going on, she finishes her own drink, then takes my hand and walks with me over to the front door, ignoring the three shocked guys following us.

“Have a good night,” I call behind me, dismissing the guys as we step out of the door and toward the gate. I stop breathing altogether when the gate doesn’t move as we approach it, and a warmth floods my chest, instantly freezing to ice when the huge metal gates slowly begin to part.

He let me go. He saw my dress, heard I was going to a party and then just let me go.

I shouldn’t care, but I do. Maybe I’ve been testing him, seeing if this was all an act, if I actually am free. He passed and I doubt there’s a shrink anywhere in the entire country who could explain why my heart feels like it’s breaking.

“Starling, are you okay?” Sammy asks as we climb into her golf cart and start to drive away.

Shaking my head, I bring my hand to my lips and cover the whimpering sound that’s fighting to get free.

“Oh my god, what’s the matter?” she asks, pulling the cart into the driveway for one of the other houses and turning all of her attention to me.

“I’m an idiot. He did everything. I hate him, but he let me go,” I half sob, half ramble. I know I’m not making any sense, but my thoughts are so jumbled that I can’t make my mouth form the words to explain.