Matias’s phone buzzed against his thigh, a sharp, insistent vibration. He pulled it from the pocket of his dark jeans, the screen illuminating his sharp features. The caller ID read Father. His smirk didn’t falter, but his green eyes cooled, the amusement fading into detached focus.

He shouldered his way through the crowd, past a group of athletes debating playoff odds and a cluster of legacy students sipping champagne, until he pushed open a heavy door and stepped into the relative quiet of a darkened study. Bookshelves lined the walls, smelling of old paper and expensive wood polish.

There was a brief, weighty pause on the line, filled only by the muffled bass from the other room.

Matias said nothing. He stared at a gilt-framed painting on the dark wall, his expression unchanging.

The line went dead. Matias lowered the phone, his thumb hovering over the screen for a moment before he slid it back into his pocket. He took a slow breath, the quiet of the study feeling suddenly heavier, then turned and pushed the door open, the wall of sound and light hitting him again.

Among the newcomers, Y/n stepped inside, her gaze sweeping over the crowded, opulent room—the crystal chandeliers, the dark wood, the sea of designer clothes and confident smiles. It was her first real campus party since transferring.