_Calden's POV_
I stayed rooted In place, my face scrunched up in anger, my lips pressed into a thin line.
Thessaly waited for the crowd to disperse before speaking. She put some distress in her voice, making it shake just enough to sound pitiful.
"Calden, I'm cold."
I’d picked up my tuxedo jacket from where it had fallen, but made no move to hand it to her. Standing at 185cm, I towered above Thessaly and could easily pin her with one icy glare.
"Zarelle didn't push you."
It was a statement, not a question.
"She did... the second time," Thessaly kept her eyes on the floor, mumbling like a scolded child.
Her hair was still dripping wet, creating small puddles on the marble beneath her feet. Her gown clung to her body in an unflattering way, the expensive fabric ruin
