Jasmine's POV
The morning rose and slipped away quickly. By dusk, the city lights had already begun their glow. Hours blurred into minutes, and before I knew it, night had fallen, dragging me exactly to where I called "eerie".
The black car rolled to a stop in front of Crestfall Academy.
I stared at the gates, gold letters gleaming against polished iron. Same as before. Same as the day I walked out and swore I'd never come back.
"Ma'am?" the driver asked, opening the door.
I stepped out. My heels clicked against the pavement, sharp and steady, though my stomach twisted like it wanted to fold in on itself.
The banners flapped in the breeze – Crestfall Annual Charity Gala. The words mocked me. Charity, when this school had chewed me up and spat me out.
A couple by the steps paused. The woman's eyes widened. She leaned in to her companion and whispered, not quietly enough.
"Is that Jasmine Duvall?"
"She actually came back?" the man muttered.
I ignored them. My shoulders stayed high, chin level. If I'd learned one thing since Crestfall, it was this… never let them see the cracks.
Inside, the lobby buzzed. Glittering gowns, tuxedos, champagne glasses catching light. Faces I recognized. Faces I had tried to forget.
And then the whispers began to multiply.
"Thought she left the country."
"After what happened witAres…"
"She looks different. Stronger. Meaner."
I kept walking. Let them talk.
"Jasmine?"
I turned. A woman in emerald silk was blocking my path, a too-bright smile plastered on her face. Bianca Hart. Former queen bee.
"Well, well," Bianca drawled. "The prodigal princess returns."
"Hello, Bianca." My voice was flat.
"You picked quite the event for a reunion." she said, circling me with her eyes. "Charity. Very noble of you."
Her tone dripped sugar and poison.
"Better than gossip." I replied.
Her smile stiffened. "Still sharp, I see."
"Sharper." I said, brushing past her.
She turned to her friend, whispering loudly enough for me to hear. "She thinks she's someone now."
I didn't look back.
My heels carried me down the hall. The marble floor reflected the chandeliers above, blinding and beautiful. But all I saw were ghosts.
The staircase loomed ahead… the same staircase where Ares once waited after class, leaning against the railing, smirking like he owned the world.
I slowed. My fingers brushed the banister. Cold metal. Once, it had been warm under his hand.
A laugh rang from behind me… real, present, but it struck like a memory. Ares's laugh. Carefree, reckless, from the boy he had been before he became the man I now battled across boardrooms.
I clenched the banister until my knuckles ached, then let go.
"Miss Duvall." a voice said.
I turned. An older man approached, silver hair, familiar face. Mr. Coleman – Crestfall's headmaster, still standing as straight as a blade.
"Headmaster." I inclined my head politely.
"It's been a long time." His eyes softened. "You carry yourself differently now."
"Life does that." I said simply.
His gaze flicked over the crowd. "People will talk. They always do. Don't let them own your return."
"I won't."
"Good." He gave a small nod, then moved off to greet another donor.
I drew in a steady breath. This was Crestfall, yes. But I wasn't the girl who left. Not anymore.
The night was only beginning.
Some minutes later, I opened the ballroom door with a soft push.
Music spilled out… violins, elegant and smooth, the kind of sound meant to polish over ugly truths.
I stepped inside.
The room glittered with chandeliers and gold trim. Tables spread with champagne flutes. Laughter laced the air, but the moment eyes fell on me, it shifted. Softer. Meaner.
"Is that really her?" someone whispered.
"She hasn't shown her face here in years."
"No shame at all, walking in like nothing happened."
I ignored them and kept walking.
A man blocked my path. Tall, sandy hair, smug grin. Ethan Rowe. Former captain of the swim team.
"Well, look who crawled back." Ethan said, tilting his glass in my direction. "Jasmine Duvall. The scandal in heels."
Laughter burst from the group around him.
I didn't stop. "Ethan. Still drowning in mediocrity, I see."
His smirk faltered. "Still got that mouth, huh?"
"It's sharper now." I brushed past him, my shoulder grazing him.
More laughter… not mocking this time. Nervous. The tide had shifted, just a little.
But the ghosts weren't done.
I caught sight of the staircase again, and in a rush, memory hit me.
Seventeen. The night of the Winter Gala. Ares waiting for me by the railing, eyes softer than I'd ever seen. He held out his hand, shy and bold all at once.
"Dance with me, Jasmine. Just this once."
The music in the present clashed with the memory's melody. My chest tightened. I blinked hard, forcing it back.
"Jasmine?"
I turned. Another familiar face. Clara Morton - quiet, bookish, the kind who had once smiled at me in the library when everyone else turned away.
She looked older now, but her eyes held the same warmth.
"I didn't think you'd come back." Clara said softly.
"Neither did I." I admitted.
"You look… different. Stronger."
"I had to be."
Clara hesitated, glancing at the others who were still staring. "They haven't changed. Still cruel, still whispering."
"I know." My voice was steady. "But I have."
Her lips curved in the faintest smile. "Good. Then make them regret it."
I almost smiled back.
Then another voice cut through the air. Loud. Purposeful.
"Careful, Jasmine. Not everyone's happy to see you."
Bianca Hart again. She glided closer, emerald dress catching the light, her words sharp enough for the nearest crowd to hear.
"Some of us remember the mess you left behind. The lies."
All eyes turned toward us. The music dimmed under the weight of silence.
I faced her squarely. "Funny. I remember the truth. That you thrived on kicking people when they were already bleeding."
Her smile faltered, just slightly.
"Watch your tongue." Bianca hissed.
"Or what?" I stepped closer, voice low but cutting. "You'll start another rumor? You'll whisper in another hallway? Go ahead. Do your worst. I've already lived it."
The crowd shifted uneasily. Whispers buzzed again, but this time, they weren't all against me.
Bianca's jaw tightened. She turned sharply, her heels striking the marble as she stormed away.
I stood still, chest heaving, but my face was calm.
Inside, though, the ghosts clawed harder. Every word, every stare, dragged me back to the girl I'd been, the one who had no shield and power.
But that girl was dead.
I lifted a glass of champagne from a passing tray, raised it slightly as if to toast the room, then took a long sip.
If they wanted a show, I'd give them one.
The champagne burned down my throat, but it wasn't enough to quiet the noise inside me. My gaze drifted upward, past the chandeliers, past the marble stairs. That's when the memory caught me.
The same staircase. The same glittering lights. Years ago.
I was seventeen again, in a simple black dress I'd borrowed from my aunt. Everyone else shimmered in designer gowns. I felt out of place, small.
But then I saw him.
Ares Knight.
He leaned against the railing like he owned it, dark hair falling into his eyes, suit sharp but his tie loose like he didn't care. His gaze found me through the crowd. It didn't just find me… it held me.
I tried to look away, but he moved. He cut through the dancers, shoulders brushing past others as if no one else mattered. Then he stood in front of me.
"You're not dancing?" he asked.
"I don't belong here." I whispered.
"Yes, you do." His voice was steady. "More than anyone."
I laughed nervously, hugging myself. "Don't flatter me, Knight."
His eyes softened. He reached for my hand, slow, careful, like I might bolt. "It's not flattery."
My heart pounded. The music slowed - a waltz. Couples twirled around us. He didn't care. He lifted my hand anyway.
"Dance with me, Jasmine."
"I can't."
"You can." His thumb brushed against my palm. "And if anyone stares, let them. They'll only wish they were me."
The words stunned me. My chest ached with something I didn't want to name.
We moved to the side of the room. His arm slipped around my waist, hesitant at first, then firmer when I didn't pull away. My hand rested on his shoulder, trembling.
He guided me across the floor, his steps sure, mine clumsy. But he didn't laugh. He didn't let go.
"You're nervous," he murmured.
"You're arrogant." I shot back.
He smiled… not the cruel smirk everyone knew, but something rare. Gentle. "Maybe. But only with everyone else. Not with you."
My throat tightened. "Why me?"
His eyes locked on mine. The music swelled. He leaned closer, words low and certain.
"Because I like you, Jasmine. More than I should."
The world blurred. The lights, the whispers, even the cold marble beneath my heels disappeared. There was only him… his warmth, his confession, the way my heart stuttered in answer.
I didn't speak. Couldn't. I only looked at him, and for the first time, I didn't feel like an outsider at Crestfall.
I felt seen.
The memory fractured, slipping away.
Back in the ballroom, the violin strings pulled me into the present again. My hand shook around the champagne glass. I pressed it tighter, steadying myself.
Those days were gone. Sweet, but poisoned. And Ares Knight wasn't the boy who confessed under glittering lights anymore.
He was the man trying to bury me.
The applause rose as the string quartet finished. Glasses clinked. Laughter rippled across the ballroom. I set my champagne down and moved toward the terrace doors.
I needed air.
The marble beneath my heels echoed with each step. The night air hit me cool and sharp as I stepped outside. The terrace stretched wide, lit by golden lamps. Beyond the stone railing, Crestfall's grounds sprawled into darkness, the familiar courtyard whispering memories I didn't want.
I gripped the railing, forcing my breath steady.
"Running already?" a voice drawled behind me.
I turned. It was Ria Whitmore, one of the old packs. She leaned against the doorframe in a silk dress that probably cost more than my car. Her smile was poisonous.
"Just catching air." I said flatly.
She tilted her head. "Funny. Same excuse you used back then. Whenever it got too much. Whenever you could not keep up."
I said nothing.
Her eyes flicked over me, sharp and mocking. "You might wear power now, Jasmine, but underneath, you're still the scholarship girl who didn't belong."
I let her talk. People like Ria thrived on reaction. When she got none, her smile faltered.
"You've changed," she said finally. "but you'll never outrun Crestfall. None of us do."
She slipped back inside before I could answer.
The door clicked shut. Silence wrapped around me again.
I exhaled. My pulse was still unsteady, the memory of Ares's confession and Ria's venom colliding inside me. I turned back toward the ballroom.
That's when I saw it.
An envelope.
It was tucked neatly against the railing where I had been standing. Pale, thin, my name written in black ink across the front. Jasmine Duvall.
I froze.
The ballroom laughter muffled through the glass behind me. My hand hovered over the envelope. For a moment, I wondered if someone was watching. My gaze swept the terrace… empty. Shadows stretched, harmless but heavy.
I picked it up. The paper was smooth, expensive.
I broke the seal with my thumb.
A single line in sharp handwriting.
"The truth is uglier than you think… FD"
My throat went dry.
Not knowing what it meant by FD, I flipped the paper, checked for more. Nothing. Just that sentence. Short. Cold. Final.
A prickle crept down my spine. I glanced toward the windows. Faces shimmered behind the glass… investors laughing, classmates whispering, Ares standing tall in the crowd.
Did he know?
I folded the note fast and slid it into my clutch. My grip tightened until the leather dug into my palm.
The music swelled again inside. The party moved on. But my night had just split wide open.
Someone here wanted me rattled. Someone here knew something.
And if the note was right, the ghosts of Crestfall weren't finished with me yet.