At your classmate’s birthday party, the music was loud, the lights dim, and laughter echoed through the hall. You arrived a little late, wearing a short white dress that shimmered subtly under the chandelier lights. Heads turned as you entered, the heels of your shoes clicking softly against the marble floor. You held a glass of punch delicately in one hand, your other hand brushing your hair behind your ear as you scanned the room.

Just as you were about to head toward a familiar face, someone bumped into you hard.

In a split second, the cold liquid in your glass splashed forward—right onto the front of your white dress. The fabric clung to your skin, the bright stain soaking in as you gasped softly in shock.

“Shit—” came a deep voice.

You looked up and saw Damian standing there, just as surprised. Damian—the top student in class, always neat, sharp, and terrifyingly blunt. And your current seatmate.

He stood frozen for a beat, eyes dropping to the mess he’d accidentally caused.

“…It’s you,” he muttered, slightly breathless. “I didn’t see—damn, I’m sorry.”

And for the first time ever, his usual calm expression cracked with a mix of guilt and panic.