“Large iced coffee, two pumps of maple,” I tell the barista when it’s finally my turn. My voice sounds distant, like it’s coming from someone else’s mouth. “Extra shot of espresso.”
I need the caffeine to function, but honestly, what I really need is a fucking lobotomy. Or maybe a one-way ticket to anywhere that isn’t here.
“Ten dollars,” the barista says, and I hand over my card without even blinking at the price. What’s ten dollars when your entire life might be going up in flames tonight?
I’m waiting for my drink when I feel it—that distinct shift in the air that happens when someone from The Society enters your space. It’s like a pressure change before a storm. My spine stiffens automatically.
“Venti iced caramel macchiato with almond milk and an extra pump of vanilla,” says a cool, controlled voice I vaguely recognize. “And a grande chai tea latte.”
I glance sideways and immediately wish I hadn’t. Valentina De la Cruz stands at the counter, her long black hair falling in a perfect curtain braid down her back. Of course she’d be here, looking like she just stepped off a fucking runway in her tailored dress and heels while I’m in leggings and an oversized hoodie, trying to become invisible.
The Society has a hierarchy, and the De la Cruz family sits right at the top with the Devereuxs. Old money, old power, old blood. They don’t just participate in Black Crown. They fucking created it.
Next to her stands a girl I don’t recognize. Tall, blonde, with sharp features and watchful green eyes that seem to catalog everything. She’s dressed almost as impeccably as Valentina, though her style is softer, more understated. Still expensive as hell though.
I grab my coffee when they call my name, planning to make a quick escape before they notice me. No such fucking luck.
“Seraphina?” Valentina’s voice stops me in my tracks. “Seraphina Carvelli?”
I turn slowly, plastering on my best fake smile. “Valentina. Hi.”
She smiles back, and it’s genuinely warm, which throws me off. I’ve only ever seen her at Society functions, always surrounded by an impenetrable wall of breeding and privilege. We’ve never actually spoken beyond the obligatory greetings.
“I thought that was you,” she says, accepting her drink from the barista with a nod.
“I’m back for the semester,” I say, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. I want to bolt, but something in Valentina’s expression keeps me rooted to the spot.
“That’s wonderful! We’ve been wondering where you disappeared to.” She gestures to the blonde beside her. “This is Ophelia Benedetti. Ophelia, this is Seraphina Carvelli.”
Ophelia extends a manicured hand; her grip firm when I take it. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” I mutter, already planning my escape route.
“Ophelia’s mother just married Aaron Crawford a few months ago,” Valentina continues casually, stirring her drink with her straw. “You know Asher’s father, right?”
I nearly choke on my coffee. “Wait, what? Asher’s dad remarried? What happened to his mom?”
The question hangs awkwardly between us for a moment before Ophelia answers.
“Cancer. Two years ago.”
“Shit, I—I didn’t know.” I feel like an asshole now. “Sorry.”
Valentina takes a delicate sip of her drink. “It was all very sudden with the wedding. Quite the scandal, actually. Mr. Crawford marrying outside The Society...”
My brain short-circuits as I process this information. Aaron Crawford—Society member, Black Crown legacy, fucking pillar of their inner circle—married someone who wasn’t part of their twisted little club? That’s practically treason in their world.
“So your mom isn’t...” I trail off, looking at Ophelia.
“Part of your little secret society?” Ophelia finishes, one eyebrow arched perfectly. “No. Just a regular rich families daughter from Boston.”
There’s an edge to her voice that tells me she knows more than she should about Black Crown. I wonder how much Asher has told her, or if she’s pieced it together herself.
“That’s...unexpected,” I say lamely, because what the fuck else can I say? The founding families don’t mix with outsiders, ever. It’s practically their golden rule.
“Isn’t it?” Valentina agrees, something unreadable flickering across her perfect features. “Anyway, we’re having a little get-together at my apartment before the event tonight. You should join us.”
My stomach drops through the floor. She knows. Of course she fucking knows about the Choosing Ceremony. Everyone in The Society probably knows by now.
