Sera's POV
The next morning, Elysian Prep was too bright. Too sharp. Every chandelier gleamed like it had been polished just to mock me, every marble floor too flawless beneath my heels.
I'd spent hours replaying my father's words, trying to decide whether they were shackles or warnings. But the moment I stepped out of the town car, I felt it—his presence.
Sebastian.
He didn't come to me, not openly. He simply fell into step behind me as if drawn by gravity. In the glass walls of the school, I caught glimpses of him: a shadow stitched to my reflection, a storm always a breath away.
It should have unsettled me. Instead, it steadied me.
By the second class of the day, people were whispering. Not about the accident in the cafeteria. Not about rumors. But about the way the Blackwell heir couldn't seem to stop orbiting me.
Penny leaned close as we slid into Literature. "He's staring again. Should I throw my pen at him?"
I didn't answer. Couldn't. Because the truth was, I liked it—that steady weight of his gaze, hot enough to burn through silk and steel alike.
By lunch, the whispers were no longer whispers.
"They're together."
"Look at the way he waits for her to sit first."
"Maybe it's a strategy—Valmont and Blackwell, a match made in blood."
I laughed at something Celeste said, porcelain and perfect, and didn't turn when Sebastian slid onto the bench beside me. He didn't even bother with pretense anymore—his tray untouched, his eyes fixed on me.
"You're bold today," I murmured, too softly for the others to catch.
His lips curved, dangerous. "You're letting me be."
The others kept up the charade of conversation, but their eyes darted, measuring, speculating. Penny's glance was the sharpest of all—half suspicion, half warning.
And still, I let him stay.
The rest of the day blurred into something new, something reckless.
Sebastian was everywhere. He held doors before I reached them, brushed past me in crowded hallways, let his fingers graze mine when no one was watching. Every gesture was small, ordinary—yet threaded with meaning.
And me? I didn't push him away.
Once, in the library, I dropped my pen. He caught it before it hit the floor, setting it on my notebook with a look so deliberate it left my pulse racing.
"You're reckless," I whispered.
"You're smiling," he shot back.
He wasn't wrong.
By the time the final bell rang, my mask felt cracked at the edges. Too many stolen moments. Too many near-touches.
So when I pushed open the door to the Fundraiser Planning Room, I wasn't surprised to find him already there, leaning against the table like he'd been waiting for hours.
"Stalking me now?" I asked, voice cool.
"Call it persistence." He straightened, eyes locked on mine. "We need to talk."
I closed the door. Slowly. Deliberately. "About?"
"Us."
The word hung in the air, heavier than it should have been.
We circled each other like predators who'd finally admitted they were prey too.
"You know what they'll say," I told him. "What they'll do if they find out."
"I don't care." His voice was sharp, stripped bare. "I'd rather burn with you than rot without you."
The fire in his words almost undid me. Almost. "It's not that simple."
"Yes, it is." He stepped closer, shadows cutting across his face. "We're already doing this—shadowing each other, watching each other, bleeding for each other. The only difference is saying it out loud."
My breath caught. Because he was right. Because despite dynasties and warnings and all the walls I'd built, I'd already chosen him in every silence, every stolen glance, every heartbeat that sped when he walked into the room.
"I can't…" My voice faltered. "I can't let them see."
"Then don't." His hand hovered just inches from mine, waiting. "Let them think we're enemies. Let them believe whatever they want. But when it's just us—no masks. No lies."
The silence between us thickened, alive, a living thing pressing at my ribs.
Finally, I reached out. My fingers slid into his.
"Fine," I whispered, crown heavy on my head. "In secret."
His smirk was sharp, triumphant—but his eyes were something else. Something softer. "Then it's official."
His thumb brushed my hand, and for the first time, I let myself imagine it—not as rivals, not as heirs, but as something dangerous and real.
A hidden alliance.
A dangerous choice.
My choice.
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Sebastian's POV
Her hand fit into mine like it had always belonged there. Small, cold, trembling with a weight I couldn't take from her—not yet.
"In secret," she'd said. Like a dagger slid between my ribs.
I wanted to tear the word apart. I wanted to drag her into the open, let the whole world see what was already burning between us. But when her eyes lifted to mine, I knew I couldn't. Not yet.
If hiding was the only way to keep her, I'd take it.
I brushed my thumb across her knuckles, memorizing the shape of her choice. "Then in secret," I echoed, though every bone in my body screamed against it.
She looked away first, crown tilting, mask slipping. And I realized the truth: she wasn't ready to let the world burn for us.
But I was.
So I would wait.
Wait until the moment came when Seraphina Valmont wouldn't just choose me in shadows—she'd choose me in the light.
And when that day came, no dynasty, no crown, no god in this city would stand in my way.