The rooftop gleamed like a slice of another world.
Golden light spilled from chandeliers that swayed gently in the city wind, reflecting off crystal glasses and sequined dresses.
Laughter rippled through the air; effortless, expensive laughter that knew it belonged here.
I stood at the edge of it all, wearing a charcoal shirt I'd ironed three times, shoes that had seen too many miles. My reflection in the glass doors almost looked confident, if you ignored the way my hands clenched the strap of my worn messenger bag.
I'd told myself I wouldn't come. That walking into Samuel Blake's birthday party was asking to be eaten alive.
But Lena would be here.
And somehow, that was enough.
When I stepped inside, the scent of champagne and money hit me first. The music, something jazzy, polished and uncomfortably smooth, blended with the hum of conversation. People sparkled. Literally. Sequins, gold, diamonds, designer laughter.
The skyline stretched out beyond the glass railing, New York glittering like a mirage. I felt like a smudge on it.
"Bennett!"
The voice cut through the chatter, warm, commanding, and too familiar to ignore.
Samuel Blake appeared through the crowd, grin bright enough to belong on a magazine cover.
He looked like he'd stepped out of one, too. Slicked-back hair, navy suit, confidence dripping from every word.
"Man, you actually came," he said, clapping a hand on my shoulder like we were friends. "Didn't think you'd show."
"I, uh…" I forced a smile. "Got dragged here."
"By Lena?" He smirked knowingly. "Yeah, that checks out."
He laughed, genuine enough to disarm me. "Come on, don't just stand there. You're one of us tonight."
One of us.
For a stupid second, the words warmed me.
He led me toward a circle of people, girls in satin dresses, guys in tailored suits, all with drinks and confidence radiating through them.
The moment I stepped in, the noise shifted. Like a new chord played in the background. Curious glances, small smiles.
"Everyone, this is Ash Bennett," Samuel announced. "He's the guy I told you about; top of the literature department. Legit genius."
Someone whistled. Another said, "Oh, that Bennett."
I laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of my neck. "Please don't make it sound like I'm smarter than I am."
"Modest, too," Samuel added, grinning. "Guy works part-time, studies full-time, still beats half the campus in grades. Wild, right?"
The group laughed, kindly, it seemed.
We talked about professors, books, the kind of safe small talk you use to survive social landmines. Samuel kept the energy light; charming, easy, the perfect host.
"Wait," one of the girls said suddenly, tilting her head at me. "You're the one who wrote that essay Professor Klein posted, right? The one about grief and art?"
I blinked. "Uh, yeah. That was me."
"It was beautiful," she said, smiling. "Honestly, it made me cry."
My throat tightened. "Thank you."
Samuel nodded approvingly. "Told you he's the real deal. Guy's got soul."
I smiled at that small, but real. Maybe he wasn't that bad after all. Now when I think about that time, yeah, it really doesn't take much to gain my trust.
A waiter passed by, and Samuel grabbed two glasses of champagne. He handed one to me. "Here. You deserve it."
I hesitated, then took it. "Thanks." But there's no way I'm gonna drink that. I don't drink alcohol, have no intention of doing it ever.
He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "You know, Lena's been telling everyone about your stories. I read one last week, the one with the guy standing in the rain? Brutal, man. You've got something."
I blinked, startled. "You… read it?"
"Of course. I'm not a total jock," he said with a wink. "You've got this whole tortured artist vibe going on. Girls love that."
Everyone laughed lightly. I chuckled, too, cheeks warming. It wasn't cruel, not yet.
"Anyway," he said, raising his glass. "To the artist among us. May he write us all into fame."
Glasses clinked. I actually smiled.
For a while, I let myself belong.
But then, like someone twisting a dimmer switch, the tone shifted.
"So, Bennett," Samuel said, tilting his glass. "You're from upstate, right? What's it like?"
I shrugged. "Quiet. Cheap coffee. Friendly neighbors who gossip too much."
Laughter. Light, harmless.
"And your folks still live there?"
"Uh, just my Dad and Grandmother."
He raised his brows. "Ah, yeah. I heard your mom's… not around anymore?"
My hand tightened around the glass. "She's around. Just… doing her own thing."
Samuel's grin didn't falter. "Must've been rough, man. I mean, you turned out great, considering."
"Considering?"
He waved it off. "You know, small-town stuff, family drama, all that. But hey, you made it out. That's impressive."
Something in the laughter around us changed, softer, but edged now.
Samuel turned to the group. "You know what's wild? Bennett here's been paying his own tuition. Works at some café downtown, what's it called, Mocha Moon?"
I blinked. "How do you—?"
"Oh, I know things." He grinned. "Best coffee in the city. You guys should check it out sometime. Maybe tip him double, yeah?"
Laughter again, sharper this time. I laughed too, but my throat felt dry.
Then Samuel's tone shifted, just slightly. "Oh, speaking of family, I heard your mom's engaged. That true?"
The air in my lungs froze. "What?"
He smiled innocently. "Yeah, rumor is she's marrying that tech billionaire Richard Moreland, right? Guess you won't need to care about expenses anymore, thanks to your rich, new stepdad."
A few people gasped.
Someone laughed. Hesitant, then louder when Samuel did.
"She wouldn't—" I stopped myself. My voice sounded small even to me.
Samuel just shrugged, his grin widening. "Hey, good for her, right? Trading up. Everyone deserves a happy ending."
The group chuckled. It felt like the ground was slipping out from under me.
"Man," he went on, "you've had a rough run, huh? Dad's alcohol issues, bankrupcy, mom moving on, still managing straight A's. That's resilience. Respect."
He said it like a compliment.
But it wasn't.
I could hear the shift in the laughter now. Low, pitying, cruel around the edges.
Someone whispered, "That's messed up." Another murmured, "His dad's an addict?"
The world blurred around me. The champagne in my hand trembled.
Samuel raised his glass high, smile dazzling.
"To Ash Bennett," he declared. "The scholar, the survivor, the man who proves you don't need money, family, or luck to keep showing up!"
Laughter broke out; some forced, some genuine. All of it burned.
I looked for Lena, desperate, breathless. She was across the hall, smiling at someone, too far to see any of it.
Samuel clinked his glass against mine. "Cheers, man. You're one of us now."
I didn't move.
The lights blurred in my eyes.
Then he leaned in, voice dropping low, almost gentle.
"She only pities you, you know. That's why she keeps you around."
My stomach turned to stone.
"Who do you think told me all this about you?" He smirked.
For a heartbeat, the city went silent.
No music. No laughter. Just that one sentence, sinking deep.
Samuel patted my back, smiling for the crowd.
"Good talk, Bennett. Enjoy the party."
I nodded, mechanical, polite, and walked away before I forgot how to breathe.
I left the glass untouched on the counter and stepped out into the night.
The wind hit my face like a slap.
Down below, the city pulsed; horns, neon, laughter drifting upward.
I kept walking until the hotel disappeared behind me.
She only pities you.
The words echoed like a curse.
And I didn't know what hurt more, Samuel's cruelty, or the tiny, terrifying part of me that believed him.