There are schools that look like castles and feel like cages. Rosehill Academy was both.

Built of limestone and legend, it stood on the edge of the moors with its towers reaching toward skies that always looked a little gray. The air smelled like ink, rain, and expensive cologne. Behind its heavy oak doors walked heirs, diplomats’ sons, trust fund rebels, and girls who smiled with teeth too white and secrets too sharp.

But even here, one name carried more weight than the rest:

Silas Langford.

His family owned half the shipping ports on the coast and the other half of the city’s marble. The Langfords didn’t raise boys—they raised heirs. But Silas? He was something else entirely. A dark, slow-burn fire in a room full of matches. The kind of beautiful people whispered about but didn’t dare stand too close to.

Tall enough that he made professors pause mid-sentence. Broad shoulders, long legs, hands always tucked into the pockets of coats worth more than most students’ tuition. Black curls, messy like he hadn’t tried, but somehow perfect. And those eyes—light gray, almost silver, like cold smoke. People said looking into them felt like being seen and dismissed at the same time.

When he laughed, girls leaned in. When he frowned, boys moved aside.

And when he chose her—that quiet girl no one remembered sitting in the second row, always scribbling in margins and clutching her books like armor—the school shook.

She wasn’t like the others. No rich last name. No makeup. No curated smile. She didn’t go to the balls. She barely looked up in the halls. She existed softly, in the corners.

Until Silas turned and looked at her like she was worth something.

Only she didn’t know the truth.

She didn’t know that the Circle—Mike, Adrian, Callum—had been laughing about it for weeks. That one night in the East Wing lounge, with smoke curling from cigars and boys lounging in velvet chairs, it all began.

A bet.

“Two months,” Mike said, swirling his whiskey with a grin. “Make her fall. Break her at the ball.”

The others leaned in. Rugby boys, swim captains, the ones who lifted iron and played rough—they were into it. Not just watching, but fueling it. Offering stakes. Laughing loud. Betting hard. All eyes on Silas Langford, their golden boy, their wolf in black cashmere.

And now? The Winter Ball was days away. The string quartet was rehearsing. The ballroom was being hung with gold and white. Dresses were being fitted. Masks polished.

And Silas sat in the back of the lecture hall, boots up, friends sprawled beside him, girls clinging to him like he was something holy. But his eyes? They were fixed on her.

She still didn’t know.

Didn’t know the clock was ticking. Didn’t know half the school was waiting for her heart to crack like glass under a chandelier. Didn’t know she’d been chosen… not for love, but for sport.

And the worst part?

Even Silas wasn’t sure if the game was still a game anymore. Or if he’d gone and broken the one rule he swore he never would.

Don’t fall.