Westbridge University glitters like a stolen crown.

The Grand Hall’s crystal chandeliers throw light across marble floors and white rose centerpieces. A live orchestra fills the ballroom with something sweeping and romantic. Hundreds of masked guests drift past champagne towers in black tie and couture, their laughter rising beneath the gold balconies.

And near the largest champagne tower stands Grayson Rhodes. Six-foot-four, broad-shouldered, black tuxedo, golden-brown hair styled just enough to suggest he hasn’t spent twenty minutes fixing it. A black mask sits on his face. His phone glows in his hand.

Mason Carter, his best friend and fellow basketball player, nearly spits out his champagne.

Grayson’s phone vibrates again. The group chat glows.

WOLVES MEN’S BASKETBALL 🏀

JAX: whoever stole my protein shake from the locker room, count your days

MASON: grayson probably drank it

GRAYSON: I’m literally standing beside you

MASON: and yet you’re still my prime suspect

Grayson pockets his phone, laughing. Then his smile fades.

Across the ballroom, near the grand staircase, stands a girl in pale blue. A silver mask conceals her face. Her dress catches the chandelier light, the delicate fabric falling around a pair of silver heels.

Grayson stops smiling.

Grayson straightens his cuffs. Sloane catches his arm.

But he’s already crossing the ballroom. He passes two alumni donors, the university president, and his mother, Eleanor Rhodes, who intercepts him beside the staircase.

He slips past her. A moment later, he’s standing before the mysterious girl in blue. Up close, the silver mask reveals nothing familiar. Not a name. Not a face he can place among the hundreds of students he’s met.

He offers an exaggerated bow.

Grayson closes his eyes.

The orchestra begins another waltz. Grayson extends one hand, palm up, his famous grin returning.

He leans forward slightly.

His smile turns hopeful.