The invitation arrived like a secret you weren't supposed to read.
Black envelope. Gold seal. No return name.
Just one line in elegant calligraphy:
"Queen's Crest Masquerade Ball – Legacy Attire Required.
No mask, no entry. No secrets, no fun."
It spread like wildfire.
The first co-ed event since the boys arrived the one everyone had been waiting for.
No teachers. No parents.
Just cameras. And consequences.
---
Toni Wuraola was built for nights like this.
Every inch of her plan was flawless.
Custom emerald corset dress imported from Milan.
Mask feathered with real peacock plumes and enough Swarovski crystals to blind a god.
By the time she stepped into the Glass Atrium, she didn't walk, she arrived.
Every neck turned. Every light followed.
And across the room, under the chandeliers, he was waiting.
Adrian.
Midnight tux. Gold mask. Silent eyes.
He looked like a prince who'd forgotten he was supposed to smile.
Toni's lips curved.
Tonight, he's mine.
---
Meanwhile, Amara Okonkwo had told herself she wouldn't come.
Masquerade balls were just another excuse for rich people to lie in prettier clothes.
But then she saw Adrian's name on the guest list.
And suddenly, she had a reason.
Her dress was the opposite of Toni's plain, sleek black silk.
No shimmer. No flash.
Her mask matte, her stare sharper than any jewel in the room.
She didn't walk in for attention.
She walked in for answers.
---
The music hit deep a slow, elegant beat wrapped in bass.
Gold light spilled over the glass dome. Perfume and secrets floated through the air.
And at the center, Adrian stood still, unreadable, magnetic.
Girls drifted closer. Boys tried to imitate his posture.
And above them all, two storms watched each other.
Toni made the first move.
"Don't usually see you standing still," she said, voice sweet but sharp.
She handed him a glass of champagne. "Don't tell me even you get nervous?"
Adrian took it, eyes scanning the crowd. "Just watching."
"What exactly are you watching?"
He nodded toward the far end of the ballroom.
"That."
Toni turned.
And saw Amara.
---
The music shifted a waltz now, slow and deliberate.
The lights dimmed.
And just when Toni reached for his hand, Adrian stepped away.
He crossed the floor.
Straight to Amara.
Toni froze mid-step, her breath catching in her throat.
Every camera, every whisper, every stare all of them on her.
For the first time in her life, she wasn't the one being chosen.
---
"Didn't expect you here," Adrian said as he offered Amara the untouched glass.
She didn't take it. "I didn't come for you."
He smiled. "Good. Because I didn't come for anyone."
Silence stretched between them, heavy but charged.
Around them, dancers spun and watched pretending not to listen.
Then Amara leaned closer. "Who sent the red envelopes, Adrian?"
His eyes flickered, but his face stayed calm.
"You think it was me?"
"I know it wasn't Toni. She's too loud. Too dramatic."
He took a sip, unbothered.
"And what if it wasn't either of us?"
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"Then we've both made enemies."
---
Up above, hidden behind a curtain, a camera blinked red.
The feed streamed to a screen miles away.
A man's voice murmured into a mic.
"They've taken the bait."
---
Down below, Toni's smile returned colder this time.
"He turned you down?" Bisola asked gently.
Toni didn't answer. She just watched Amara and Adrian across the room.
"They think this is a game," she said. "But I don't fight for boys. I fight for names."
Mimi leaned closer. "What should we do?"
Toni's voice was almost a whisper.
"Set the trap."
---
An hour later, the lights blinked again.
For the second time in two weeks, Queen's Crest was swallowed by darkness.
Gasps. Screams. Laughter. Panic.
And when the emergency lights buzzed back on the dance floor was still full.
But Adrian and Amara were gone.
Outside, deep in the west garden...
A single scream cut through the night.
And this time, it wasn't for attention.