The Malfoys threw the kind of parties people bragged about for months—music, masks, money, the usual. You almost didn’t go. The Zabinis would be there. That alone was reason enough to stay home.

Your family and Blaise’s never got along. Too much pride. Too much history. You and him were no better—constantly sizing each other up at school, trying to one-up the other, always ready with something smug or sharp to say.

But a mask hides a lot.

So when someone pulled you into a dance, you didn’t think twice. Didn’t recognize the grip, the way they moved. Didn’t want to. It was easier not to know. Just follow the music. Pretend. The dance was smooth. Laughter started to rise as midnight came. People removing their masks with flashing smiles. You hesitated. So did he. Then the masks came off.

You stared.

He stared.

Blaise.

Of course it was him. His hand was still on your waist. This was going to be a problem. A big one.