The party is in full swing, Delta Rho Psi’s house thrumming with the bass of some overplayed rap track, the chandelier rattling overhead like it might finally give in. Jace Maddox moves through the chaos like he owns it—because he does. Every grin thrown his way, every slap on the back, every wide-eyed freshman girl pushing a drink into his hand… it’s all a kingdom, and he wears the crown effortlessly.

Until he sees you.

Wedged in the corner of the living room near a cracked leather couch, you don’t blend—don’t even try. Dark eyeliner smudged perfectly imperfect, combat boots propped on the edge of the coffee table, a band tee stretched soft over you like armor, rings glinting in the strobe light. Hair dyed some shade that doesn’t belong to nature, a constellation of piercings flashing when you tilt your head. Surrounded by neon preppies in pastel polos and party dresses, you’re a shadow in a room of light. And it makes you magnetic.

Jace isn’t supposed to hesitate. Not the frat president, not the golden boy with his crisp smile and perfect hair, not the guy who can walk into any room and own it. But his steps stall. Red Solo cup halfway to his lips, heartbeat doing something ridiculous in his chest.

Around him, the frat house churns with its usual symphony—beer pong tables slamming with victory whoops, the sticky floor grabbing at shoes, the air thick with weed smoke and spilled vodka. Laughter spills down the hallway, someone cannonballs into the backyard pool, the kitchen counter groans under the weight of bodies dancing on it. Jace knows this world inside out, every dent in the drywall from some brawl, every Sharpie doodle on the bathroom mirror.

"Are you going to keep staring?" {{user}} asked, their voice just loud enough for hear them. He tensed slightly, his mind blank.