The prom wasn't held in the school gym. No bleachers, no sad punch table or folding chairs under a disco ball. No—this year, the venue was a sprawling Italian-style villa on the cliffs of Lake Crescent, nestled into the forest like it had been plucked from a fever dream and dropped into Forks.
The long black car rolled to a stop under the soft golden light of the villa's front awning, its windows glowing warm behind the grand arched doors. Laughter spilled out, muffled by music and distance, and the still lake reflected it all—this illusion of peace.
The passenger door opened, and Aiden stepped out first, dressed sharp in a tailored black suit. He adjusted the collar, tugged once at his cuff, then turned.
Rosalie emerged next.
Stone archways led into a grand ballroom with high, domed ceilings and sweeping windows that opened out onto the black-glass lake. White lights twisted through trellises, and violin music drifted from the garden courtyard. There were vintage poker tables in one room, an elegant buffet in another, and just outside—beneath the lantern-strung pergola—couples danced beside the water under a storm-threatening sky.
It was decadent.
It was surreal.
Students milled beneath chandeliers. Lights danced off glass and lake water, off the polished floor and the sequins of overdone dresses. Pop music thumped low, bodies moving to the beat. Teachers posted near the punch bowl did their best not to look bored.
Aiden and Rosalie stepped through the doors like smoke cutting through fog.
Heads turned. Not all. Just enough.
Jessica caught sight of him first. "Oh my god, Aiden! You came!" she squealed, tugging Angela and Mike over.
"Camping, huh?" Mike grinned, mock punching his arm. "You look like you survived."
"Barely," Aiden replied, lips twitching into a half-smile. "Good to see you guys."
They talked for a few beats, casual and light—nothing said about what had really gone down. The lie stood on wobbly legs, but no one pressed. Maybe because they didn't want the truth.
The Cullens weren't far behind.
Emmett gave a quiet nod. Alice grinned and mouthed "finally" before disappearing with Jasper toward the baroque staircase. Elise flashed him a thumbs-up in her satin-blue gown.
No sign of Edward or Bella. Not yet.
Then the music changed—slower now. Older. One of those songs that wasn't quite vintage but hit deep in the ribs.
Rosalie turned to him.
She didn't say anything.
Didn't have to.
He offered his arm. She took it.
They stood in silence for a breath. Two storms, paused.
"I didn't expect this," she said. "You. Any of it."
Aiden met her gaze. "Neither did I. But here we are."
She reached for his hand.
Out onto the dance floor, surrounded by their classmates and the glitter of a hundred phones snapping blurry photos, the two of them moved like they'd done this before in another life. Or maybe like they were trying to slow the world down for just five minutes.
They danced.
Right there—no music, no audience. Just the lap of water against the dock and the wind starting to whisper through the trees. Her head rested against his chest, and for the first time in what felt like lifetimes, Aiden breathed without the weight.
But that peace didn't last.
Not for either of them.
"I keep thinking about Connie," Aiden said after a long moment.
Rosalie stiffened, just slightly.
"I don't know what I feel," he admitted. "But I know what I lost."
Rosalie pulled back, her eyes sharp but soft. "You didn't lose everything."
He looked at her—really looked.
And then, slowly, he leaned in.
She met him halfway.
The kiss wasn't feverish. It wasn't desperate. It was slow, vulnerable—a question asked and answered in the space of a heartbeat. Her hands found his jaw, his waist. He kissed her like maybe this was the first time he'd ever been allowed to want something for himself.
When they parted, her voice was barely a whisper.
"I need some air," Aiden murmured, voice low against her ear.
Rosalie let go, reluctant but understanding. "Ok, in the back. By the lake. It's quiet."
He nodded, offering one last look.
And walked off.
The night was far from over.
But for the first time in a long time… it felt like something real had started.
[Few Minutes…]
The music from the villa echoed faintly behind him, muted by the thick trees surrounding the lake.
Aiden stood at the edge of the stone terrace, hands in his pockets, watching the moonlight ripple across the dark water. He needed the air. The night had been too loud, too crowded. He hadn't expected to feel this… detached.
Footsteps clicked softly on the stone behind him.
He turned.
A woman was walking toward him, slowly, deliberately—like she belonged there. Her hair was long and wild, a deep red that shimmered under the lights. Her face was sharp, beautiful in a striking, almost dangerous way.
Her skin was pale. Almost too pale.
She looked like she belonged there, until you saw her eyes.
Bloodred.
Not contacts. Not a trick of the light.
Real.
Predator real.
"Beautiful night," she said, her voice smooth, too calm.
Aiden blinked. "Uh… yeah."
She stepped closer.
He stepped back.
"You're Aiden Frost," she said. "I've heard a lot about you."
Aiden tensed. "Who are you?"
The smile that spread across her lips was cruel, almost pitying. "Victoria."
And then she whispered, "The Cullens took something from me. So I'm going to return the favor."
She moved before he could blink. One second there was empty space between them—next, her hand was on his throat, slamming him back into the stone wall.
Pain exploded across the back of his skull.
He fought—swung, kicked—but she was too fast. Too strong.
He reached for the blade in his coat—
Gone.
"You fight like him," she purred. "But you're not him. Not yet."
The last thing he saw before darkness took him was her smile.
[Minutes Later..]
The laughter inside the lakeside villa felt like static now.
Rosalie stood alone by the glass doors, her expression unreadable—except for the tension in her jaw and the flicker of unease behind her golden eyes.
Twenty minutes.
That's how long it had been since Aiden stepped outside for "just a little air."
She knew better.
The music throbbed in the background, muffled by the walls as she pushed the doors open. Cool air rushed past her, lifting the hem of her dress. The stone terrace led down to the lakefront, where lights danced gently over still water.
Still.
Too still.
Her eyes locked on the muddy path leading to the dock. Footprints. One set. No return.
And something darker.
A heel print half-smudged. A drag. A scuffle.
No...
She stepped forward, instincts shifting into overdrive. Then she ran.
"Edward!" Her voice cut through the hum of music. Urgent. Commanding.
The others heard it.
Emmett appeared at the terrace doors first, confusion furrowing his brow.
"Rosie?"
"Something's wrong," she said, panicking internally. "Aiden's gone."
(END OF SEASON 1)