Avon took another sip of his drink, muttering to himself, "What just happened?"
He replayed the conversation in his head, trying to piece together what might have triggered her abrupt departure.
Her words, "But we don't have to be like that," echoed in his mind, but the meaning eluded him.
What did she mean by that?
Like what?
His gaze drifted toward the dance floor, scanning for any sign of Astrid. She wasn't easy to miss, her fiery red dress standing out amidst the crowd.
When he finally spotted her, she was leaning against the far wall, arms crossed and a frustrated expression etched across her face.
Avon hesitated. Should he give her space? Or should he follow her and try to figure out what was going on? His natural instinct was to avoid confrontation—he hated uncomfortable conversations—but something about the way she had looked at him before walking away tugged at him.
