The invitation had been dropped on Elena's desk like a threat. The Blackwood Annual Founders' Gala. Attendance was "mandatory" for all top-tier business scholarship students.
Elena stared at her reflection in the cracked mirror of the girl's bathroom. She had spent her last $30 at a thrift store on a dress that was two seasons out of date—a deep emerald silk that was frayed at the hem but brought out the fire in her eyes.
"You look like a commoner trying to play queen," a voice drawled from the doorway.
Elena didn't need to turn. Cissy Montgomery stood there, draped in silver sequins that looked like liquid moonlight. Two other girls hovered behind her like well-dressed vultures.
"And you look like you're trying too hard, Cissy," Elena retorted, pinning her hair up with a cheap plastic clip. "Shouldn't you be busy practicing your fake smile for the cameras?"
Cissy's eyes flashed with venom. "Enjoy your little moment, Elena. But remember—at midnight, the dress turns to rags, and Julian still belongs to the board of directors. Not you."
The Ballroom Battle
The gala was held in the university's Great Hall, transformed into a forest of white roses and crystal chandeliers. Elena felt the eyes of the elite burning into her. She was a "scholarship case," a stain on their perfect tapestry.
She was nursing a glass of sparkling water in the corner when the room went silent.
Julian entered.
He looked devastating in a midnight-blue tuxedo, his hair swept back, looking every bit the heir to an empire. Beside him, his father, Marcus Blackwood, stood like a king—cold, grey, and calculating.
Julian's eyes scanned the room, ignoring the heiresses fluttering their fans, until they locked onto Elena. For a second, his composure wavered. He took in the green dress, the defiant tilt of her chin, and the way she stood alone against the world.
"Julian," Marcus whispered, his voice like grinding stones. "Go to Cissy. The cameras are waiting."
"In a moment, Father," Julian replied, his voice tight.
Instead of turning toward the silver-clad Cissy, Julian walked straight toward the corner. Straight toward the girl in the frayed emerald silk.
"You're late again," he said, stopping inches from her.
"I wasn't sure I was invited to the 'Inner Circle,'" Elena whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs.
"You're my partner, remember?" He reached out, his hand settling firmly on the small of her back. The heat of his palm through the thin silk made her breath catch. "That means you stand where I stand."
"Julian, stop," she hissed. "Everyone is looking. Your father looks like he's about to have me deported."
"Let him look," Julian muttered. He leaned down, his lips brushing her temple as he whispered, "You look... tolerable, Vance. For a girl who shops at a warehouse."
Despite the insult, his eyes were burning with a fierce, protective light.
"Dance with me," he commanded.
"I don't know how to dance like this, Julian."
"I'll lead," he said, his voice dropping to a gravelly intimacy. "Just follow my heart. If you can still find it."
As they stepped onto the floor, the music swelled. Julian pulled her close—closer than "partners" should ever be. For three minutes, the hate, the money, and the lies vanished. There was only the rhythm of the waltz and the scent of sandalwood.
But as the song ended, Marcus Blackwood stepped onto the podium, a microphone in hand.
"Tonight," Marcus announced, his eyes fixed mockingly on Elena, "I am proud to announce the formal engagement of my son, Julian, to Miss Cissy Montgomery. The merger of our legacies begins tonight."
The room erupted in applause. Elena felt Julian's hand turn cold as it dropped from her waist. She looked at him, searching for a denial, but he was staring at his father with a look of pure, paralyzed horror.
The glass slipper hadn't just shattered; it had turned into shards.