The invitation came on a Tuesday afternoon, tucked neatly into Elena's locker like a secret waiting to be found. The paper was embossed with gold lettering and smelled faintly of expensive perfume.
Welcome to Crestwood, Elena James. You're invited to the Monarchs' Fall Soirée. Friday, 8 p.m. Crestwood Mansion. Dress to impress.
Her first instinct was disbelief. Why would they invite her? After two weeks of silent stares, whispered insults, and occasional "accidental" bumps in the hallway, this felt like a trap wrapped in elegance.
Maya frowned when Elena showed her. "You're not seriously thinking about going, right?"
"I don't know. Maybe they're trying to make peace."
"Or maybe they're trying to make a point. Elena, it's the Monarchs. They don't invite people like us, they parade us."
But Elena's curiosity outweighed her fear. She told herself it was just a party, a chance to fit in, maybe even to start over.
By Friday night, her small dorm room was a blur of clothes and nervous energy. Maya helped her into a soft navy dress that hugged her figure in all the right places.
"You look stunning," Maya said, adjusting the thin strap on her shoulder. "Just… promise me you'll leave if anything feels off."
"I promise."
The mansion stood at the far end of Crestwood's campus, a towering estate passed down from generations of wealthy alumni. Strings of light glowed across the courtyard, and luxury cars lined the driveway. Music drifted through the air, low and haunting.
Elena stepped inside, and for a moment, she forgot to breathe. The place looked like a dream — crystal chandeliers, a live string quartet, students in tailored suits and glittering gowns. She caught glimpses of familiar faces. Sierra, radiant in silver. Blake, smirking with a drink in hand. And at the center of it all, Adrian, leaning casually against the banister, talking to a group of seniors.
Their eyes met across the room. His lips curved slightly, almost in recognition, but he didn't move toward her.
"Elena James," Sierra's voice rang out behind her. "You made it."
Elena turned, forcing a polite smile. "Thanks for the invitation."
Sierra's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Oh, it wasn't me. Blake thought you'd… liven things up."
Laughter rippled behind her. Elena's heart tightened, but she stood her ground. "I'm glad to be here."
"Of course you are," Sierra said, tilting her head. "You must be thirsty. Here, let me get you something."
Before Elena could refuse, a red cup was pressed into her hand. The drink fizzed sweetly at the top. She hesitated, then took a cautious sip. The alcohol burned, stronger than she expected.
Moments later, music shifted to something faster, louder. Someone called out from across the room. "Hey, it's the scholarship girl! Show us how you dance, sweetheart!"
Laughter again. The sound crawled under her skin.
Sierra's voice followed, silky and cruel. "Come on, Elena. You don't want to seem ungrateful, do you?"
The lights dimmed. Someone started recording on their phone. Elena's throat tightened as she realized what was happening.
But before she could move, Adrian's voice cut through the chaos. "Enough."
The crowd froze. He stepped forward, his expression unreadable.
Sierra's smile faltered. "We were just—"
"I said enough." His tone was calm, but the authority in it silenced the room. He took the cup from Elena's hand, setting it aside, then looked directly at Sierra. "You've made your point. Now leave her alone."
For a long moment, no one moved. Then Sierra turned sharply, heels clicking against the marble floor as she disappeared into the crowd.
Adrian turned back to Elena. "You shouldn't have come here alone."
"I didn't know it was a setup."
"You should have," he said quietly. "You're smarter than that."
Anger flickered through her embarrassment. "You could have warned me."
His eyes softened, just a fraction. "Would you have listened?"
She didn't answer. The room still buzzed around them, whispers and stares pressing in from every direction.
"Come on," he said finally. "You don't belong here."
She hesitated, then followed him out into the cool night air.
The silence between them stretched as they walked down the driveway. The music faded behind them, replaced by the sound of her heels clicking against the pavement.
"Why do you care?" she asked quietly.
He looked ahead, hands in his pockets. "I don't."
"Then why—"
"Because watching people break things that don't deserve to be broken bores me."
She blinked at him, unsure whether to be offended or grateful.
When they reached the edge of the courtyard, he stopped and turned to face her. "They'll come after you again," he said. "That's what they do. Don't make it easy for them."
She met his gaze, her pulse quickening. "And what about you, Adrian? What do you do?"
He smiled faintly, that same unreadable glint in his eyes. "I ruin things. Beautifully."
And then he was gone, leaving her standing in the cold, heart pounding, realizing that this — whatever this was — had only just begun.