[Rosella – First Person POV]
I should've turned back.
Every instinct screamed it.
But the moment I stepped into the south wing ballroom, the world shifted.
Music drifted through the space like a ghost. Slow. Twisted. Not a melody, but a warning.
The chandeliers were dimmed. Only candles lit the massive room, flickering shadows across masks and whispers.
Every student was in black.
And every one of them wore a mask.
Except me.
I'd never felt more out of place — or more seen.
Then I saw him.
Damien, leaning against the grand piano like he owned it. His mask was bone white, carved with gold. No emotion, just power.
He walked toward me, slow and deliberate.
"You came," he said.
"You didn't give me much of a choice."
His lips curved. "Sure you did. You chose curiosity. That's the first test."
"What's next? Sacrifice my GPA and bloodline?"
He tilted his head. "Something like that."
---
[Damien – Third Person POV]
She wore black like it was made for her. Minimalist. Elegant. Dangerous.
Rosella didn't dress to impress — she dressed to survive.
That's why he chose her.
Not for show.
For strength.
He could feel the eyes on them. Whispers already bubbling behind fans and champagne flutes.
Veronica hadn't shown yet.
But she would.
She loved entrances too much to miss this.
---
[Veronica – Third Person POV]
Fashionably late was a strategy.
She descended the stairs in a black velvet gown that dripped like oil and wore a gold mask shaped like thorns.
Every heel click announced her presence. A dare.
When she reached the floor, the crowd split for her.
But Damien didn't look up.
He was too busy watching her.
Rosella Rivers.
Veronica's smile didn't crack, but inside?
Fire.
Let them flirt with chaos.
She was the one holding the match.
---
[Julian – Third Person POV]
Julian stood on the upper balcony, wine glass in hand, watching the ceremony unfold.
The first-year invitees were being lined up now — blindfolded, hands tied with silver rope.
Rosella wasn't among them.
Of course not.
Damien had plans for her. Special ones.
Julian raised his glass in mock salute.
Let the madness begin.
---
[Rosella – First Person POV]
The air changed.
A hush fell across the ballroom as the piano cut off.
Then, a masked figure stepped forward, holding a scroll.
Julian.
I recognized the voice. Calm. Cold. Practiced.
"Tonight, the Thorns welcome new blood. You will not remember the names spoken. You will not reveal what is seen. The price for disobedience… is exile."
The crowd echoed the last word like a prayer.
Exile.
That word settled in my bones.
This wasn't a game.
It was a contract.
Damien leaned close, his breath brushing my ear.
"Still want in?"
I didn't look at him. I just nodded once.
He handed me a match.
---
[Damien – First Person POV]
Her hands didn't shake.
Even when she lit the candle and whispered the vow.
Even when the flames caught the paper and the ballroom went dead silent.
She was all fire and ice — too real for this porcelain world.
And now?
She was one of us.
Whether the Thorns liked it or not.