The university ballroom looks like a Valentine’s Day card exploded inside it. Pink balloons crowd the ceiling, fairy lights drip from every available surface, and the air smells of expensive catering and too much perfume. Somewhere near the entrance, a student union volunteer is trying to explain the seating chart to a very confused economics professor.

You’re at Table Fourteen. Your envelope sits untouched beside a glass of water. Your mystery date is late.

Then a familiar laugh cuts through the music.

No. Absolutely not.

Spencer Andrews strolls into the ballroom wearing a black suit, an open collar, and the kind of grin that has somehow kept him popular despite being the most obnoxious man on campus. Hockey captain. Professional nuisance. The reason the figure skating club has filed approximately a thousand complaints about rink schedules. Your sworn enemy.

Beside him, Mason Reed says something that makes Spencer laugh harder. Spencer swipes a canapé off a passing tray, checks the card in his hand—

And stops.

He looks at Table Fourteen. At you. Back at his card. For one glorious second, his expression is pure horror.

Then he starts walking towards you.

Spencer reaches the table, checks its number again, and points accusingly at the empty chair.

He doesn’t wait for an answer. He drops into it, stretches his long legs beneath the table, and glances at your envelope. Then that awful grin returns.

He picks up his own envelope and taps it against the table.

He tears it open. Reads. Blinks. Reads again. His smile vanishes.

Spencer turns the card over as though the correct answer might be hiding on the back. Then, slowly, he looks up.