RUMORS Secrets, Lies & Alibis

Dorm Party Disaster Part 1: Crystal and Champagne

The East Wing common room had been transformed into something out of a fairy tale—if fairy tales involved trust fund babies and enough champagne to float a yacht. Crystal chandeliers cast rainbow prisms across silk-draped walls, while a three-tier champagne fountain bubbled in the corner like liquid gold. Near the grand piano, a string quartet played classical arrangements of pop songs, turning the space into an elegant fever dream.

“This is insane,” I whispered to Nick as we entered the party together, his hand warm in mine.

“Welcome to Ashwick social season,” he murmured back. “Just wait until you see the winter formal.”

I’d borrowed a dress from Roni—a sleek black number that probably cost more than most people’s rent. She’d insisted after our arrangement this morning, claiming it was her contribution to our “performance.” The fabric felt like liquid silk against my skin, and for the first time since arriving at Ashwick, I looked like I belonged in this world of casual luxury.

The party was already in full swing, with students clustered around high-top tables sipping cocktails and posing for each other’s social media stories. Everyone looked like they’d stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine, all perfect makeup and designer everything.

“Isabella. Nick.” Alexander appeared beside us as if summoned by my thoughts. He was wearing a navy blazer that fit him like a second skin, his platinum hair catching the chandelier light. In his hand was a crystal tumbler filled with something amber and expensive-looking.

“Alex,” Nick’s greeting was politely neutral.

Alexander’s gray eyes fixed on our joined hands for a moment before traveling up to meet my gaze. “You look... different tonight.”

“It’s amazing what decent lighting can do,” I said, keeping my voice light.

His smile was sharp around the edges. “Indeed.” He gestured to a passing server carrying a tray of elaborate cocktails. “Can I offer you something to drink? The mixologist is from Manhattan’s finest hotel.”

The cocktails looked like liquid art—swirled with gold leaf and garnished with crystallized flowers. They probably cost more per glass than I used to spend on groceries in a week.

“I’m good, thanks.”

“Come on,” Alexander’s voice carried that familiar edge of challenge. “Live a little. You’re at an Ashwick party, not a church social.”

“She said no,” Nick stepped closer, his voice mild but firm.

Alexander’s eyebrows rose. “Of course. How protective of you.” Without breaking eye contact with me, he downed the entire cocktail in one smooth motion. “Shame to waste such artistry.”

There was something almost desperate in the way he drank it, like he was proving a point I didn’t understand. His jaw clenched as he swallowed, and for just a moment, his composed mask slipped.

“Are you okay?” I asked before I could stop myself.

“Perfect,” he said, but his voice was slightly hoarse. “Absolutely perfect.”

A commotion near the champagne fountain caught our attention. Julian had materialized in the center of a crowd, wearing a burgundy velvet jacket that should have looked ridiculous but somehow made him look like a romantic poet. He was holding court with his usual theatrical flair, gesturing wildly as he told some story that had his audience in stitches.

“Speak of the devil,” Nick muttered.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Julian’s voice carried across the room. “I do believe we’re about to witness something extraordinary.”

Every head turned toward us. I felt heat creep up my neck as I realized we’d become the evening’s entertainment.

“What’s he talking about?” I whispered to Nick.

“No idea, but with Julian, it’s usually—”

Nick didn’t finish the sentence. Instead, he cupped my face in his hands and kissed me.

It was soft and sweet and entirely for show, but the effect was immediate. The entire party seemed to hold its breath, and I could practically hear the phones coming out to capture the moment.

When we broke apart, Julian started a slow clap that echoed through the suddenly quiet room.

“Six out of ten,” he announced, his voice carrying that familiar note of theatrical criticism. “Technically proficient, but lacking in passion. Where’s the fire? The desperate longing? I’ve seen more chemistry in a pharmaceutical textbook.”

Heat flooded my cheeks. Around us, students laughed and whispered, their attention focused on our “relationship” like we were performing in a play.

“Perhaps you’d like to demonstrate?” Nick called back, his arm tightening around my waist.

Julian’s grin was pure mischief. “Oh, darling, if I started demonstrating, we’d be here all night.”

Before anyone could respond to that loaded comment, a loud creaking sound filled the room. Everyone looked up to see one of the massive crystal chandeliers swaying ominously overhead.

“Oh my God,” someone screamed. “It’s going to fall!”

Students scattered as the chandelier continued to sway, its hundreds of crystals chiming like deadly wind chimes. But instead of panic, Julian’s face lit up with theatrical delight.

“An assassination attempt!” he declared, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead in a gesture worthy of a Victorian melodrama. “They’re trying to kill me! How wonderfully dramatic!”

“Julian, get away from there!” Nick shouted, but the prince seemed to be enjoying himself too much to listen.

“This is just like in the movies,” Julian continued, spinning in a circle beneath the swaying chandelier. “Death by interior decorating! My father will be so disappointed—he always expected me to die in a duel, not by falling crystal.”

A figure moved through the crowd with purposeful efficiency. I caught a glimpse of dark hair and sharp features before Marcus Devereux—the mysterious transfer student I’d heard whispers about—grabbed Julian’s arm and hauled him away from the danger zone.

“Enough,” Marcus’s voice was calm but carried absolute authority. “Everyone back.”

The chandelier gave one final, ominous sway before settling back into stillness. The room let out a collective breath, and nervous laughter rippled through the crowd.

“Well,” Julian said, straightening his velvet jacket with theatrical dignity. “That was invigorating.”

Marcus didn’t let go of his arm. “We need to talk.”

“Always so serious, Marcus.” Julian’s grin never wavered, but something shifted in his eyes. “Can’t a prince enjoy a near-death experience in peace?”

As they disappeared into the crowd, I noticed Marcus scanning the room with the kind of systematic attention that suggested professional training. Who exactly was this transfer student?