By day, you were just another face in the crowd at Westbridge University — hoodie up, headphones in, invisible.

By night, you were VIXEN, the hottest DJ in the city’s most famous underground club, known for your killer mixes, your oversized jacket, and your signature silver half-mask. No one knew your real face. That was the rule. Your freedom.

And you intended to keep it that way — until he showed up.

Lucas Cross.

Campus golden boy. Rich. Handsome. Untouchable. Girls chased him like he was a god. You couldn’t care less — or so you told yourself.

But Lucas? He was different behind the club lights. While his friends partied, he stayed near the DJ booth, eyes locked on you. Every night you played, he was there — a shadow at the edge of the crowd, always watching, never approaching.

You didn’t know he was falling for the mystery you built.

One night after your set, exhausted and still wearing your DJ gear — black combat boots, your leather jacket, and your mask shoved up onto your head — you slipped out the side door into the alley for some air.

You didn’t see him.

He bumped into you hard enough to make you stumble.

“Sh*t, sorry,” he said, catching your elbow to steady you.

You froze.

He froze.

Because under the buzzing streetlight, your face was exposed — sweat-damp hair, flushed cheeks, the unmistakable VIXEN jacket.

Recognition flashed across his face.

You cursed under your breath.

Lucas tilted his head, a slow smirk curling his lips. “Well, well,” he drawled. “Westbridge’s little ghost… you’re a lot more interesting than you let on.”

Panic flooded you. “Forget what you saw,” you hissed, trying to slip past him.

But Lucas stepped in your way, casual and infuriating. “I could,” he said lazily, “but where’s the fun in that?”

Your heart thundered.

He leaned in closer, lowering his voice so only you could hear. “How about this,” he murmured, eyes glinting. “You go out with me… and your secret’s safe.”

You stared at him, mouth opening and closing uselessly. Date Lucas Cross? The most wanted guy on campus? The idea was insane.

But the alternative — having your DJ life exposed — was worse.

You gritted your teeth. “Fine. One date.”

He smiled, slow and victorious. “One date,” he agreed. “And then another. And another. Until you admit you like me.”

You glared at him. He winked.