The campus ballroom hardly resembles a place meant for stressed-out students and overdue assignments.

Tonight, it looks like a palace borrowed from a dream—crystal chandeliers dripping light like molten diamonds, velvet curtains sweeping across the windows in thick crimson waves, and a warm sheen glazing the parquet floors until they glow like polished honey. Music hums through hidden speakers, soft at first, then rising like a pulse. Everywhere I look, students swirl in glitter and satin, exchanging flirtatious glances, laughing louder than they ever do in the cafeteria, as if the transformation of the room has loosened something in all of us.

Cleo grabs my wrist the moment we step inside. “Holy hell, Soph,” she whispers, her eyes widening. “You’re going to cause riots tonight.”

I roll my eyes even as a flush warms my cheeks. “I’m not doing anything.”

“Exactly,” she says, giving me a slow up-down. “That’s the terrifying part.”

My dress is darker than midnight, a deep ink-blue satin that hugs my waist and hips before spilling to the floor—except for the slit, which climbs indecently high along my left thigh. The neckline dips low enough that I considered backing out three times while getting ready, but Cleo had pressed her hands to my shoulders and said, Trust me. And I do. So now here I am, slick and dangerous in a dress that feels like it has secrets sewn into its seams.

Cleo, dazzling in silver and all legs, laughs under her breath.
“You’re definitely trying to kill a man tonight.”

“Which one?” I mutter without thinking, and immediately regret it.

She gives me a sharp, curious look.
“I was talking about Cassian, but interesting that you assumed I meant someone else.”

Heat spikes beneath my skin. I look away. “Let’s just… get a drink.”

But even as I say it, I feel him. Adrian.

He blends into shadows better than anyone I’ve ever known. He could be in the middle of a crowd and still look like a secret. Tonight he’s leaning against one of the marble pillars, dressed in a fitted black suit that makes me want to stare too long. His hair is slightly tousled, the way it gets when he’s frustrated or thinking too hard—or watching someone he doesn’t trust.

His eyes find me instantly. Not with surprise. With intention. The air between us tightens like a violin string.

Cleo nudges me with her elbow. “Is he going to kill Cassian first or you? I can’t tell.”

“Stop,” I mutter.

But my gaze snags on Adrian’s anyway. I can feel the possessive intensity rolling off him. He’s here because he said he wanted to “give me space” tonight. And somehow that translated into silently guarding the room like a predator waiting for a rival to make a move.

Except… the rival is here.

Cassian arrives late, because of course he does. There’s a hush that ripples across the room—small, almost imperceptible, but I hear it. Feel it. Cassian Ward has that effect, dressing the very air in tension wherever he walks.

Tonight he’s wearing a charcoal suit with the sleeves rolled just a touch, exposing the veins in his forearms. His tie hangs slightly loosened, as if he’s been running his fingers through it out of impatience. His hair is a little messier than usual, which is maddeningly attractive in a way that makes me want to blame someone.

He sees me.

And something shifts.

His gaze doesn’t scan. It strikes—landing on my face, trailing down the line of my throat, pausing at the neckline of my dress before continuing to the slit along my thigh. The room is full of glitter and laughter and swirling bodies, but I feel only his eyes.

Cleo leans close, whispering loudly, “Cassian Ward is looking at you like he’s choosing which corner of the room to fuck you in.”

“Cleo!” I gasp, but my pulse stutters because she isn’t wrong.

Cassian approaches at a pace that feels both casual and deliberate. Students turn to glance, then whisper. Someone giggles nervously. He doesn’t notice. Or—more likely—doesn’t care.

He stops a foot from me, close enough that I can smell the faint hint of cedar and winter air on him.

“Sophie,” he says smoothly. “You look… different tonight.”

My breath falters. “Is that good or bad?”

His eyes sweep slowly, deliberately, from the slit in my dress up to my mouth. “Very good.”

Heat blooms beneath my skin. “Thank you.”

Cleo taps my arm. “I’m going to go… anywhere else,” she says, backing away. “Try not to commit academic misconduct in public.”

I shoot her a look, but she only grins and disappears into the crowd.

Cassian’s gaze returns to mine. “Is your friend always so blunt?”

“Yes,” I exhale. “Unfortunately.”

His lips quirk with a subtle amusement before fading into something more serious.
“Prom night,” he murmurs. “Interesting choice of attire.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing,” he says. “That’s the problem.”

The words slide down my spine like a slow burn. “I didn’t dress for you,” I whisper.

“No,” he agrees softly. “But I’m not the only one looking.”

My stomach twists because I know exactly who he’s referring to.

Cassian tilts his head slightly. “Your… companion has been watching since you walked in.”

I resist the urge to turn around. “I know.”

I nod. “Just a moment.”

He lets his hand fall, but his gaze stays hooked to mine. “Then take it. Before I forget we’re in public.”

I turn away quickly and walk toward the hallway that leads to the washrooms. My heels click against the marble floor in a rhythm too fast to be calm, but too slow to be running. Students drift past me in waves of perfume and cologne, but none of them feel real.

The corridor is dimmer, quieter. Shadows stretch tall along the walls, and the hum of the ballroom fades behind me. The hush is relieving at first, then intoxicating. I can almost feel Cassian’s gaze still burning on my back. And Adrian’s jealousy like a storm behind me.

Inside the washroom, fluorescent lights buzz to life, slightly too bright for the softness of the night. I brace my hands on the cool porcelain sink, inhaling deeply.

My reflection looks nothing like the girl who walked into class on Monday. My eyes are darker, lips fuller from nervous biting, chest rising too quickly. The slit in my dress reveals the pale line of my thigh, the fabric shifting as I breathe.

I look… like someone standing on the edge of a very dangerous decision.

I brush my fingers down the side of my dress, letting the fabric shift aside. Desire and confusion swirl so tightly inside me I can barely tell them apart.

Someone would follow me.

Both men saw me leave.

Cassian’s eyes had been heavy, hungry, silently promising he would not resist temptation if it presented itself. Adrian’s jealousy had been a slow, burning fuse.

I can feel one of them in the hallway.

A faint echo of footsteps—unhurried, measured, confident—drifts toward the washroom. The hairs along my arms rise. My stomach tightens.

Someone is coming.

My breath hitches. I straighten slowly, smoothing the dress over my hips. My hands are trembling. I don’t know if I want this moment or fear it.

The knock against the washroom door is firm. Not frantic. Not hesitant.

Certain.

My heart slams against my ribs. I swallow hard, step forward, and wrap my fingers around the cool metal handle.

I pull the door open—And freeze. A rush of shock bursts through me. My lips part on instinct.

“You,” I breathe.