Chapter 1

Ava's POV

Whenever someone asks how I obtained a flawless GPA, numerous scholarships, and stellar reference letters, I usually think of an excuse like "positive thinking" or "ingenuity."

What I refuse to acknowledge is that the root cause of my continuous volunteer work, long study sessions, and restless nights is one thing: uncontrollable, deeply uncomfortable anxiety.

But on the bright side, I received an invitation to participate in something, which counts though.

The Crestview Manor Ball is the annual charity banquet hosted by Bluffview University, where the university's most esteemed alumni, wealthiest donors, and a select group of elite students indulge in wild behavior until the wee hours of the morning.

And me as well.

I'm one of the fortunate undergrads who received an invitation, having been selected as this year's valedictorian. That means that four years of sweat, blood, and tears might just be worthwhile.

If what my roommate said in their motivational speech about me finding true love is correct, then that's a good sign.

Which would I prefer—reading my favorite sleazy vampire novel while cuddled up in bed?

Perhaps.

Would missing the party also mean that I wouldn't get to meet any attractive rich guys?

Perhaps as well.

There's just one way to learn.

"Ava! You got invited!"

Speak of the devil.

I turn just in time to see Mia Martinez, my longtime roommate and de facto best friend, stumbling towards me while wearing four-inch stilettos. She recently changed her naturally black hair color to a soft ginger shade, and she's wearing a stylish dark green silk dress that falls to her knees.

Before I can object, she pulls me into an embrace, and she won't let go until I give her the same intensity in return. "Yeah," I force a smile. "Guess your pep talk paid off after all."

I knew that when I mentioned the free lunch, you would think about it again.

It was during our first year of college that Mia and I first became friends, having been paired up at random to live together in the honors dorm. Despite our extreme differences, we have remained friends ever since. She loves fashion and is majoring in computer science. I'm an English major who can't get enough books. We are a single, complete, normally functioning human being.

Sort of, anyway.

Yes, I shrug. "Also, Dr. Johnson might have given me a last-minute A on the condition that I attend, so..."

My academics are perfect, but my mental state may be going through the garbage disposal. You get the idea."Dr. Johnson, you mean the professor of public speaking?"

"That's the one."

Mia gives a grateful whistle.

"Good. "So is that why you're wearing?" she asks, trailing off as her confused eyes dart over my clothing. "You know, since you found out last minute?"

She has spent years, but in vain, attempting to get me more interested in fashion. Sadly, items like carriages and ball gowns are not covered by my scholarship. I also don't have men waiting to buy me designer clothes and purses like she does.

"You mean this isn't vintage Dior?" I pretend to gasp. Mia rolls her eyes, "That cashier at Marshalls must've been lying to me," but I still turn around, allowing the awkward blue maxi dress to whirl around me.

"It's the only thing they had in stock that wasn't polka-dotted or zebra print," I admit.

Mia exhales, "Right, Well, next time borrow something from me."

Mia is half a foot taller than me and has twice the boobs and ass as me, so it's unlikely that any of her clothes will fit me, but she probably wouldn't listen anyway.

"Will do."

"So, what are you waiting out here for?" Mia says

My stomach starts to tingle nervously again as if it would send me over the edge. I can't express my thoughts, which are that it took me an hour to summon the bravery to show at all. Not to add that my flawless GPA has less to do with a true work ethic and more to do with anxiety wrecking my life. When I've told people about this before, I've seen the look on their faces. Seeing Mia react the same way is hard for me. She's one of the few friends I've managed to make in college.

"Uhh, stargazing?" I lie

Thankfully Mia believes.

Or rather, she overlooks it if she thinks I'm not telling the truth.

"That can wait until later. Come on, I'll accompany you inside."

I glance at the big building ahead. Elysian Hall is a huge two-story brick building that covers a big part of the campus. Big trees make dark shadows on their sides, and there are white columns at the front that look like bars on a cage. There's even a sign above the main entrance announcing the gala. The street we're on has soft light coming in from glass windows, and there are pretty hydrangeas along the paths. It's beautiful, but also kind of spooky and really scary.

Mia scolds, "Be Careful, if you fall and trip, you're taking us both down."

I shift my attention from the building to the stairs that lead to the door. Even though I'm not wearing heels—just plain blue flats—I still can't trust myself not to check where I'm going. That and the fact that my nervousness increases with each step we take. I can already hear the inevitable sounds of a party: string instruments, laughter, and the sound of glasses clinking.

I'm spiraling before I realize it.

Not sure why I'm here.

I don't deserve to be here.

Is it too late to watch Twilight for the fifteenth time in the dorm?

As if she can read my mind, Mia gives me a comforting touch on the hand, " Think of it this way Tonight, we'll mingle with some really wealthy people. Maybe we'll find job opportunities!" 

Mia always sees the good in situations. 

The reality is, that I feel like I could throw up just thinking about being among so many wealthy families. Not even the prospect of a job can lift my spirits. It may thrill me if I had more confidence, but all I can think about is, why would anyone get enthusiastic about a job?

I would read romance novels in one sitting for the rest of my life if I had my wish.

Yes, I understand that's incredibly cheesy and depressing.

No, I don't plan to take action.

Besides, I have a job set up already. The job is as a secretary for a copywriting company that creates elegant dish towels. You know, the ones that say things like, "This mama drinks wine," and "Live, laugh, love." I start in two weeks, and while it may not be my ideal work, it's still better than nothing.

"Ladies." My attention is drawn from the ground to the entryway by a masculine voice, where a hefty man in a uniform stands holding a clipboard.

"Oh, hello," Mia says with a purr and her most seductive accent. "We're here for the party."

Unluckily for us, it doesn't appear to work on him. He gives me the impression that if we're not on the list, he won't think twice about throwing us back on the streets while grinning darkly.

I've never given this banquet much attention in terms of security before, until tonight. I should be happy to be here after all, especially with so many of the university's major financial donors in one location. All of the attendees, with the exception of a few students, will be successful heirs, powerful business people, and titans of industry.

"Names, please."

Mia gives him another beautiful smile and says, "Ava Reed and Mia Martinez. We ought to be mentioned in the section for honors students."

The man examines a clipboard, his odd smile still fixed on his face. He doesn't say anything.

What an oddball.

Even still, as he searches for our names, my breath catches in my chest.

Finally, he says, "Please, enjoy yourselves," and steps aside to let us in. I see a hint of tattoos showing through his shirt sleeves, but they vanish as soon as he lowers his arm.

"We will," Mia says confidently. We enter the ballroom together.

"Holy shit," Mia whispers and stops abruptly in the doorway.

"Yeah."

Even though I was expecting luxury, the celebration was even better than I thought it would be.

People are dancing, for starters.

Like, dancing in a ballroom scene from a movie.

From what I remember from Barbie: Nutcracker, I think this dance is a waltz. But my memory of cartoons isn't enough to compete here. Everyone seems well-prepared for this kind of event. They might have practiced a lot. Anyway, I don't think they'll be doing the Cha Cha Slide soon. But dancing isn't my biggest problem right now.

Mia, along with every other woman present, is clad in elegant silk gowns or fitted dresses adorned with cascading ruffles. Even the males are dressed sharply in three-piece suits or tuxedos.

My polyester, sequined dress is starting to appear more and more out of place.

I feel even more worried when I notice people giving me strange looks because I'm not dressed properly.

However, it is too late to turn back now.

"Ahem."

Mia and I both look at the man who just approached us. He has a big smile, like someone who just won a lotto. Because of Mia’s high heels, he is an inch shorter than her. He is also heavily muscular, with his jet-black hair combed neatly to the side. Two intensely smoky eyes look back at us with awe. 

Or more precisely at Mia.

"May I have this dance?"

She needs a moment to process his question. She looks at me with a questioning expression on her face.

"Go, I'll be alright," I say reassuringly.

I hope.

She gives me a brief hug and then nods to the man with a mischievous smile on her lips.

"If you insist," Mia says seductively 

I don't miss the distinct red flush that slowly appears on his pale cheeks, and I get excited about Mia's chances of getting a job offer after all.

That or finding another rich boyfriend.

Taking her hand in his, he walks her across the room to the dance floor, leaving me alone by the door.

I mean there is really no point in hanging around the entryway all night.

Particularly not when I look like a sore thumb in my clothing.

With that in mind, I gather the courage to start walking. I might as well try to fit in. Luckily, as I walk around the room, nobody comes to talk to me. But even if they did, I might not have much to say, I will probably make for a boring discussion 

What even does the wealthy talk about?

Polo matches from last week?

The most recent models of yachts?

influencing policymakers?

 My foot hit a big, strong thing, and then I crashed head-on straight into a brick wall.

The brick wall feels warm and smells like cologne.

Fuck.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry," I stammer, and step backwards.

I've managed to walk directly into trouble in my haste to avoid creating a scene.

Taking a quick look at my feet, I can see a visible blue scuff mark on the side now.

"I can help, "Um, maybe if we find some napkins, we can wipe it off?", 

I say nervously 

He doesn't respond.

He stays still entirely.

I slowly lift my eyes from his now-scuffed dress shoes to his immaculately fitted tuxedo. His white dress shirt now visibly displays my horrible makeup imprint, as if the whole thing weren't awful enough. Furthermore, I'm rather certain that a few napkins won't be enough to clean things up.

Sighing, the man brings a clear glass filled with amber liquid to his lips.

His hands are pale and have scars on them. He wears a gold ring with the initials M.B. on his pinky finger. I think he's not a professor, so he's probably one of the important guests tonight.

A chill runs down my spine, I manage to gaze up at his face, which towers a solid foot over me.

My breath catches in my chest and any chance of making things right disappears.

This man is not who he seems.

This is a god.

His dark hair is styled like a gentleman's, but it doesn't take away from the menacing look of fury that dances in his icy-blue eyes. His nose is powerful and Romanesque, and his beard, which is cut perfectly to complement his features, lines his jaw. He reminds me of a statue I've seen in history books made of marble. More... dangerous, like Marc Antony or Alexander the Great.

He sets down his drink and stares at me with a boring, uncaring expression like I’m not worth his time and attention. His cold gaze moves slowly over my body and then back to my face. Even though he hasn't said anything, I feel a tinge of adrenaline seeping into my body. I need to leave this man before things get worse. So, I take a step away from him, then another 

"You should be careful. I'd hate for a pretty thing like you to get hurt." He says in a low voice.

My body feels another surge of adrenaline from his words. By that, what does he mean specifically? And why does it seem like a threat to me?

I stutter, "Right," I say with a shaky voice. "I'll just be...uh...over here if you need me."

I make a hazy gesture towards the chandelier before turning and leaving as quickly as my feet would allow.

He's gone when I get the nerve to turn around and check behind me. Despite his physique, he vanished into the crowd. I ought to feel relieved. Perhaps even joyful. Instead, I'm overcome with an unpleasant, chilly feeling.

Fear.