The moonlight cast a silvery glow over Oxford. In a secluded corner of the campus, James Leighton stood leaning casually against a weathered pillar.

He had abandoned the party, his tailored jacket was unbuttoned, and his blond hair fell in perfectly disheveled waves, framing his features.

As he took in the quiet night, his eyes settled on a figure a few feet away, walking somewhere. It was her.

“I didn’t expect you to show,” he remarked, taking a slow puff from his cigar.