Zeke leaned both elbows heavily on the glass table in front of him, the edge of his forehead thudding against the surface . He let out a groan.
They were already on the balcony of his room in his parents manor. Technically. Not legally. Not even permitted to be in this room. Not allowed by security or house protocol to even be on the same wing. But, semantics.
Because how did they get in?
Simple.
They broke in.
By climbing.
Like thieves.
Like raccoons in designer belts.
Zeke was still trying to catch his breath from the sheer audacity of it all. One minute, he was dodging Ava in the hall and the next, Gin was hoisting him up over a hedge.
"Let the record show," Zeke mumbled into the table glass, "that I, Lord Zekeriah Ford, heir to fashion sin and regret, scaled a second-story wall only because I needed to be in my own room."
