The Party I was invited to

Aria’s POV:

The world tilted.

My lungs forgot how to breathe.

I stood in the doorway, fingers clawing into the wood like it could drag me back to a reality where this wasn’t happening. Jules—my best friend, my sister in all but blood—was tangled in the sheets with him.

With Wolfe.

The man who’d ruined me. The man she’d spent months warning me about.

Their gasps hung in the air, thick with betrayal. The scent of sweat and something sickly sweet—her perfume, still on his skin—clung to the room. Jules jerked upright, her eyes wild, guilty, lips swollen from his mouth. Wolfe turned toward me, his expression slipping from pleasure to ice in a heartbeat.

“Jules." My voice wasn’t mine—it was shattered glass, raw and bleeding.

She flinched. “Aria, please—"

“ Don’t."The word cut her off mid-lie. My pulse was a riot. “You don’t get to explain this."

Wolfe stood, the blanket pooling at his waist, but I wouldn’t look. Wouldn’t let myself remember the way his body had moved over mine, the way he’d whispered “You’re mine”like it meant something.

“Aria, listen—"

“Save it."My laugh was a weapon. “You ghosted after destroying my life, and now you’re fucking my best friend? Real fucking poetic."

His jaw locked, but his eyes—dark, furious, almost wounded—didn’t waver. “It’s not what you think."

“Then what is it?"I screamed , the sound ripping through the room.

“Enough."His voice cracked like a gunshot, that familiar command slamming into me—the same one he’d used when I was beneath him, gasping, begging.

It broke me.

I staggered back. Two traitors. One bed. And me—the idiot who’d loved them both.

“Aria—"”Jules reached for me.

I was already gone

The door slammed behind me, but their voices followed, twisting like knives between my ribs. My vision blurred. The taste of salt, sharp and bitter, flooded my tongue.

Tears.

Pathetic.I scraped them away. Why cry? Over a man who’d played me? Over a friend who’d plunged the knife in deep ?

Best friends.The words were ash in my mouth.

A laugh bubbled up—hollow, jagged. Maybe I deserved this. Maybe the universe was laughing at me. My face was everywhere , my body a joke, my future bleeding out with every rumor. And Wolfe? He’d won.

“Hey, Dean’s little slut."

The voice licked up my spine.

RAND.

The student president lounged against the lockers, all sun-kissed smirk and venom**. His yellow Nike shirt clung like a second skin, his hair artfully disheveled—calculated chaos.

“Not now," I muttered.

“Now’s exactly the time." He pushed off the lockers, his breath hot against my ear.”You’re coming to my party tonight. Masked. Anonymous." An envelope slid into my palm, his fingers lingering too long.” Be there, or I’ll make sure your expulsion isn’t just approved—it’s a fucking spectacle.”

I recoiled. “You wouldn’t”

“Try me." His lips grazed my knuckles, a mockery of chivalry. “Eight PM. Don’t be late."

The envelope burned in my grip.

Around me, whispers slithered like snakes:

"—heard Dean Wolfe *choked* her—"

"—total whore. Did you see the photos?—"

I clenched my fists. *Keep walking. Don’t let them see you break.*

By some miracle, I made it home. Dad wasn’t there. Small mercies.

Ivy cornered me in the foyer. "Where’ve you been?" Her gaze dropped to the envelope. "What’s that?"

Before I could react, she snatched it. Her eyes lit up. "*Rand’s party?* You’re going!"

"No."

"*I am.* And you’re coming with me." She grabbed my shoulders. "Masks mean no one recognizes you. Free drinks. A distraction." Her voice softened. "You look like hell, Aria."

I swallowed. Maybe she was right. Maybe I needed to forget—even for one night.

"Fine."

Ivy squealed. "I’ll pick your outfit! You’ll be unstoppable—

My phone buzzed. An unknown number:

**Meet me tonight. Vines Restaurant. Let me explain.**

My stomach twisted. *Wolfe.*

I deleted it.