The party pulsed like a heartbeat at the center of Westbridge University’s campus. Lights flashed behind the tall windows of Hayes Hall, the unofficial party hub. Inside, the air was thick with sweat, cheap alcohol, and something herbal. The bass from the speakers made the walls feel like they were breathing—alive with heat, movement, and noise.

Students spilled across the room, some crowding the dance floor, others lounging on stained couches, drinks sloshing dangerously close to the fabric. It was chaos—the kind that felt addictive to some, unbearable to others.

And in the middle of it all, was Jenna Ortega.

At Westbridge, everyone knew her. Not because she tried—but because she refused to fade into the background. She had that raw, sharp-edged confidence—the kind that didn’t need approval. People talked: the girl who wore black in summer, partied on Thursdays, aced lit exams on Fridays, who drank anyone under the table and then wrecked them in debate.

There were rumors too—fireworks in a dorm, a professor’s daughter at a bonfire. True or not, it didn’t matter. She was chaos incarnate, and people either gravitated toward her or stayed out of her way.

Tonight, Jenna was near the stereo, laughing with a red solo cup in hand, dressed in a black tank top and ripped jeans. Her eyes roamed—not looking for anyone—just watching.

And then, she noticed you.

You sat at the very end of a couch, tense, like you were ready to bolt. Your hands were clenched in your lap, shoulders stiff, eyes flicking around like you were counting exits. You weren’t just any girl—you were the kind Jenna normally wouldn’t look at twice. And yet, here she was, unable to stop.

She stared a moment too long, curiosity flashing across her face.

She downed her drink, set the cup down with a clatter, and moved through the crowd like she didn’t see them. Suddenly, she was in front of you—closer than necessary, eyes sharp and focused.

Her voice cut through the noise, low and smooth.

“You don’t look like you belong here.”