The bronze bells of St. Jude University tolled, echoing across the manicured, emerald-green lawns.

Saturday night descended upon Kingston Academy. The Grand Ballroom was transformed into a glittering cavern of chandeliers, ice sculptures, and champagne towers. Outside, the driveway looked like a high-end exotic car dealership.

Julian arrived in an Uber.

When he stepped out, the murmurs began immediately. He wasn't wearing his cheap denim jacket. He was wearing a tuxedo. It had no visible labels, no flashy silk linings. But to the trained eye, the cut was devastating. It was a bespoke masterpiece from a private tailor in London, woven from vicuña wool—a fabric exponentially more expensive than cashmere.

He walked into the ballroom, commanding the space without saying a word. The way he moved—with the effortless, predatory grace of someone who owned the very air he breathed—made people instinctively step out of his way.

Maya spotted him and gasped. She was wearing a simple, beautiful red dress she had made herself. "Julian... you look... different."

"You look stunning, Maya," Julian said gently, offering her a glass of sparkling cider from a passing tray.

Across the room, Tristan was seething. His reputation had taken a massive hit over the fake watch incident, and his family’s stock was still inexplicably plummeting. He needed a win. He needed to utterly destroy Julian tonight.

Tristan grabbed the microphone on the main stage. "Welcome, Kingston Elites!" he shouted, the speakers booming. "It's time for the charity auction! Tonight, we separate the kings from the peasants. Let's see who really belongs at Kingston!"