The three days following the rehearsal had been a blur of cold rain and colder silences, but the night of the Victory Gala finally arrived. The Academy had been transformed.
The Grand Ballroom of Eastwood Academy was no longer a hollow echoes and floral disputes, it was a gilded cage of high society, illuminated by a dozen crystal chandeliers that cast a predatory glow over the elite. I stood at the edge of the room, my hand tightening around a flute of sparkling water. I was not wearing the charcoal dress from the rehearsal. Tonight, I was in a floor length gown of midnight silk, a garment that cost more than a mid sized sedan and felt like a suit of armor.
My Ice Queen persona was not just a mask tonight. It was a necessity. I could feel the eyes of the board members and the billionaire dynasties crawling over me, searching for a crack in the girl who had dared to break the heart of the Thorne heir.
Then, the air in the room seemed to vanish.
Richard walked in. He was flanked by his parents, the very picture of the Golden Boy in a custom tuxedo. He looked impeccable, but there was a tightness in his jaw that had not been there at the Blackwood Reserve. Behind him, clinging to his arm like a decorative vine, was Eva. She wore a dress of shimmering gold that practically screamed for attention, her eyes already scanning the room for me.
"Attention, everyone! A moment of your time, please!"
Headmaster Wilson stood on the dais, raising a glass of vintage champagne. The room fell into a respectful, expensive silence.
"Before we begin the evening's festivities, we must acknowledge the triumph of our students at the Blackwood Reserve. The annual Scavenger Hunt is the ultimate test of synergy and focus. This year, we crowned a winning couple who set a new record for the academy. Please, join me in a toast to Richard Thorne and Sadie!"
The spotlight swung across the room, pinning me and Richard in a twin beam of blinding light. The applause was a deafening roar of polite expectation. I felt a cold sweat prickle at the back of my neck. I had to move. To refuse would be a scandal that my family's millionaire bracket could not survive. I walked toward the center of the floor, my heels clicking a steady, funeral march against the marble.
Richard met me halfway. For a second, as the toast echoed through the hall, his eyes searched mine. I saw the guilt, the regret, and the ghost of the "steady fire" he had claimed to feel for me at the stables. I did not blink. I stood beside him, a statue of ice, acknowledging the toast with a shallow, regal nod that did not reach my eyes.
"Sadie," he whispered under the cover of the applause. "You look beautiful."
"Don't," I replied, the word a frozen needle. "You are here with Eva, Richard. Play your part."
The moment the light faded, I turned to walk away, but the "spice" Eva had planned was already in motion. A young waiter, his eyes wide with a manufactured panic, suddenly lurched forward. I felt the cold, sticky splash of red wine bloom across the front of my midnight silk dress.
A collective gasp rippled through the nearby guests.
"Oh, I am so sorry!" the waiter stammered, his voice loud enough to draw every eye.
Richard reached out instinctively, his hand hovering near my shoulder. "Sadie, let me help you."
I shifted back, a sharp, instinctive movement that made his hand drop into empty air. "I do not need your help, Richard. I have handled far worse messes than a spilled drink."
I turned and walked toward the grand staircase, my head held high despite the crimson stain spreading across my waist. I made it to the marble sanctuary of the ladies' lounge and leaned against the sink, my breathing shallow. I grabbed a handful of linen towels, trying to dab at the silk, when the heavy oak door creaked open.
I retreated into the shadows of a vanity stall, not wanting to be seen in my "defeated" state.
"Did you see her face?" Eva's voice rang out, sharp and triumphant. "She looked like a drowned rat. I told the waiter exactly where to aim."
"You are ruthless, Eva," another girl giggled. "But isn't Richard going to be mad?"
"Richard?" Eva scoffed, and I could hear the sound of her applying lipstick. "He is already back in my pocket. We were so close at the retreat, and his parents have basically invited me to their summer estate already. Sadie was just a temporary distraction. A little project he grew bored of."
I gripped the edge of the marble counter until my knuckles turned white. The lie was so blatant, so toxic, but in this school, a lie told often enough became the truth. I waited until I heard their heels click away before I emerged. I fixed my hair, reapplied my darkest red lipstick, and stared at the mirror. The wine had soaked through, but the dark fabric hid the worst of it. However, as I reached back to check the silk, my heart stopped.
The waiter had not just spilled wine. The tray must have caught the delicate, invisible zipper at the small of my back. It was snagged and fraying, the teeth of the zipper beginning to give way under the weight of the heavy silk.
I was seconds away from a catastrophe that would end my reputation forever.
I walked back into the ballroom, my hand pressed firmly against my lower back to hold the fabric together. I needed to find my coat. I needed to leave. But the crowd was too thick.
"You look like you are holding a secret, Sadie. Or perhaps just your dignity."
Luke was there, blocking my path to the exit. He leaned in, his scent of sandalwood and something sharper filling my lungs. His eyes went to the wine stain, then flicked to the way I was holding my back. The glitch appeared instantly, a dark, hungry glint in his pupils.
"I saw the zipper snag, Sadie. It is only a matter of minutes before that dress decides to leave you. Why don't we step out onto the terrace? I can help you... adjust things."
His hand reached for my waist, his fingers creeping toward the broken zipper. I felt a surge of pure, animalistic fear. Luke wasn't trying to help. He was trying to trap me.
"Get your hands off her, Luke."
The voice was like a blade of ice cutting through the noise. Carl stepped between us, his tall frame a physical barrier. He did not look at Luke. He looked at me, his sharp eyes taking in the situation with a single glance.
"My father is looking for you, Luke," Carl said, his voice dripping with bored authority. "Something about the Sinclair internship. I suggest you don't keep a billionaire waiting."
Luke's jaw tightened, his mask flickering with a momentary rage, but he could not defy a Sinclair in public. He gave me a mocking bow and vanished into the crowd.
Before I could speak, Carl's hand was on my waist. It was a firm, possessive grip that forced me closer to him.
What are you doing?" I hissed, my Ice Queen armor vibrating with tension.
"The zipper is failing, Sadie," he muttered, his voice low against my ear as he began to lead me into a slow, rhythmic waltz. "Keep your arms around my neck. Look at me, not the floor."
I had no choice. I reached up, my fingers brushing the nape of his neck as he swept me into the dance. To the rest of the room, it looked like the ultimate scandal, the Ice Queen and the Sinclair heir sharing an intimate moment. In reality, Carl's hand was a shield. His fingers worked with a terrifying, calm precision, holding the fabric of my dress together and using a small, silver tie pin from his own lapel to anchor the broken zipper.
Across the room, the Golden Boy's mask finally shattered. I saw Richard freeze mid-conversation with a board member. His knuckles turned white as he gripped his champagne flute, his eyes burning with a raw, dark jealousy that he couldn't hide. He made a move to step toward us, his chest heaving as if he were about to demand a "correction," but Eva's hand tightened on his arm, pulling him back into the Thorne family circle. He was trapped by his own legacy, forced to watch as Carl Sinclair claimed the space that used to be his.
"I don't need your pity, Carl," I whispered, turning my focus back to the boy in front of me.
"Good," he replied, his sarcasm returning like a familiar weapon. "Because I don't have any to give. Just keep dancing. You are ruining my rhythm."
I gave him a single, sharp nod. A professional acknowledgement. We finished the dance, and he led me toward a private corridor near the gardens.
"Stay here," he commanded. "I'll get your wrap."
He walked away, but I didn't stay put. I stepped into the shadows of the hallway, heading toward the side exit, when I heard voices from around the corner. It was Carl and his father, Mr. Sinclair.
"What was that display on the floor, Carl?" his father's voice was a low growl. "Entangling yourself with a girl from the millionaire bracket? Have you forgotten your brother? Have you forgotten the Sinclair legacy needs more than a charity case?"
I froze, my back against the cold stone wall.
"It wasn't an entanglement, Father," Carl's voice was as cold as the marble. "I saw a girl whose dress was falling apart in front of the board members. It would have reflected poorly on the academy's coordination. I danced with her out of pity. She looked pathetic, and I handled the mess before it became a scandal for the school. It was a PR move, nothing more."
I didn't wait to hear the rest. I turned and walked out the side exit, the night air hitting my face like a slap. The "pity" comment should have hurt, but instead, it felt like the final piece of the puzzle. In Eastwood, there were no heroes. There were only players, vultures, and the girl who was learning how to freeze them all out.