Tristan offered his arm. “Ready to be the envy of every spoiled girl in that mansion?”
I gave a shaky laugh and nodded.
We drove through winding roads toward the Vanderbilt estate, and for a brief second, I let myself pretend. Pretend thiswasn’t Royal Oaks. Pretend this wasn’t all for show. Pretend I wasn’t still nursing the bruises of Leo Holt’s rejection under a coat of powder and lip gloss.
But when the limo turned up the long drive, I gasped for real.
Torch flames flickered along the stone path. Fairy lights were woven into every branch of the massive oak trees, casting golden glows across the lawn. Valets in crisp uniforms opened doors like we were royalty. And in a way, we were. At least tonight.
“I feel like I just stepped onto a Bridgerton set,” I whispered.
“That was the assignment,” Tristan said with a wink. “We understood it.”
He helped me out, his hand strong and steady. My heels crunched softly over the gravel as we stepped forward, and heads turned.
The whispers followed, as always. But tonight, they didn’t sting. Tonight, I was with a prince—maybe not the one I thought I’d end up with—but one who stood proudly beside me, chin high, eyes daring anyone to come for me.
Inside, the mansion was even more decadent. Candlelight flickered off polished silver, classical music from a live orchestra swelled in the grand ballroom, and waiters passed trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres. Girls in gowns eyed me with barely-concealed disdain. Boys did double takes.
But none of it mattered.
Until I saw him.
Leo.
Standing near the marble staircase in a black tux, looking every inch the heir his family had bred him to be. And beside him, the British girl. Vivian. Graceful. Polished. Already whispering to someone in French like she owned the air she breathed.
He looked up. Our eyes locked.
And for a moment, the music, the light, the entire ballroom blurred.
He didn’t smile. Didn’t nod. Just stared.
I broke the spell first.
“Come on,” Tristan said gently. “Let’s dance.”
We did. And it was lovely—he spun me, dipped me, made me laugh. The champagne buzzed through my veins like courage. Shani found us and pulled me into a group photo. For one sliver of a second, I felt like I belonged.
Then the lights dimmed.
A hush fell.
Time for the crowning.
I stood near the edge of the room, sipping from my glass, heart pounding as names were read. Seniors cheered. Camera flashes blinked like starlight. Then?—
“Your 2025 Homecoming Queen... Jade Morgan Bryan.”
The glass slipped in my hand.
“What?” I said, almost choking.
Shani just grinned. “Xavier and I rigged the vote. Surprise.”
Before I could protest, Tristan’s hand wrapped around mine, guiding me forward. It was like walking through fog. The crowd parted. I stepped onto the stage, cheeks flushed, feeling every hateful stare like a blade against my spine.
“And now... our Homecoming King—Leo Holt.”
