(Michelle Lui's POV)
Andy's hand rested lightly against my back—not pushing, not claiming, just guiding me away from the emotional warfare unfolding behind us.
I didn't resist.
Mostly because I felt like a shaken soda can that someone had just opened a tiny bit—about to explode in a spray of sparkly embarrassment and emotional chaos.
The moment we stepped away, the noise of the courtyard returned in a wave—laughter, music, clinking glasses, camera shutters.
Yet all of it sounded muted, distant… like my ears were underwater.
I exhaled shakily.
Behind us, I could feel the heat of three very different stares:
Steven's cold, unreadable intensity
Anthony's irritated protectiveness
Jasmine's very obvious disapproval
And somewhere behind them, Vince whispering urgently to Jeff:
"Bro, I swear we're watching a telenovela."
"Hey," Andy said softly as he steered me toward the cider table, "breathe."
"I am breathing."
"Not convincingly."
