Chapter 33

Seraphina

The Alpha Phi mansion is almost unrecognizable by the time I arrive. The transformation is complete—warm golden lights illuminate the sprawling front lawn, a velvet rope sections off the exclusive entrance, and security in sleek black suits filters through the guest list. Inside, the grand staircase is wrapped in strings of delicate crystal beads, casting prisms of color across the polished floors. High ceilings are draped with sheer fabrics in deep jewel tones, and the air hums with a low bass beat, music weaving through the chatter of the elite.

It’s stunning. And yet, all I can think about is how badly I want to leave.

But I need this space—this brief pocket of normalcy—to get my head straight. I head upstairs to my room to get ready for the masquerade.

I chose my outfit carefully, as I always do.

A deep emerald-green gown, silky and form-fitting, cinched at the waist with a plunging neckline that hints at daring without truly exposing. The long sleeves cling to my arms, hiding every inch of ink—every delicate flower, mandala, and fragment of my past. A slit up one leg reveals just enough skin to intrigue without inviting questions.

My mask, an intricate lace-like design in shimmering black, obscures just enough of my face to deepen the mystery. A disguise. A barrier between who they think I am and who I really am.

By the time I rejoin the crowd, I blend effortlessly—slipping between groups, exchanging hollow smiles, playing my part to perfection.

But as the night carries on, something shifts.

The music doesn’t change. The lights don’t flicker. But the air tightens, vibrating with unspoken tension. The crowd parts slightly, unconsciously, as if something—someone—is moving through them.

Three of them.

I don’t have to look to know they’ve arrived.

Damon finds me first.

I feel his presence before I feel his touch—fingers skimming the small of my back, a light, fleeting graze. More a reminder than a claim. A reminder that he’s here. That he’s watching. That no matter how much distance I imagine between us, he can close it in a heartbeat.

His voice is a low murmur against my ear. “Jesus, Seri. You’re going to ruin me.”

I turn slightly, looking up at him. He’s in all black—tailored slacks and a dark dress shirt, unbuttoned just enough to be casual but dangerous. His eyes, dark and knowing, watch me from behind his mask like I’m the only person in this room worth seeing.

A shiver slips down my spine.

“Is that a compliment?” I ask, feigning indifference, though my pulse betrays me.

His smirk is slow, deliberate. “That’s me trying not to drag you out of here and make you scream my name instead of pretending you belong in this crowd.”

A flush creeps up my neck, but before I can respond, Marius and Tyrone appear. They’re dressed nearly identical to Damon, as if anonymity were still an option.

Marius doesn’t speak at first. His eyes sweep over me, sharp and assessing, taking in every detail—the dress, the mask, the carefully chosen armor. Then, just barely, the corners of his mouth lift.

“Beautiful,” he says simply, his voice carrying the weight of something unshakable.

Tyrone, standing just behind him, watches me differently. Not with admiration. Not with tease. With analysis. Like he sees the cracks forming beneath the surface. Like he knows I’m unraveling faster than I want to admit.

I hate that he sees it. I hate that they all do.

I should walk away. Slip into the crowd. Lose myself in music and illusion and the temporary high of being no one.

But I don’t.

Because Damon was right—I don’t belong here. Not in this world of girls who laugh too easily, trust too freely, still believe they’re safe.

I belong with them.

Marius. Tyrone. Damon.

And that realization burns more than anything else.

Because it means I’m still drawn to their kind of power. That no matter how much I swore I wouldn’t let myself fall into this life again, I’m standing here—heart racing, skin tingling—as three of the most dangerous men I’ve ever known look at me like I already belong to them.

But they’re not like him.

He used power as a cage.

They make me feel like I could burn the world down with them.

And maybe—just maybe—I want to.

Then the moment fractures.

A creeping sensation crawls up the back of my neck. The music still pulses. The drinks still flow. But something’s wrong.

I scan the room, instincts tightening. The girls.

Paige. Lindsay. Others whose names I don’t know but whose faces I remember.

They were here.

They aren’t now.

A chill slithers down my spine.

I know this pattern. I know this game. And I know—they’re not leaving on their own.

I move fast, cutting through the crowd, every nerve screaming at me to find them. But before I can get far, a hand closes around my wrist. Firm. Intentional.

I turn. Heart hammering.

Damon.

His grip tightens slightly. “Where are you going?”

I keep my face neutral. “Just getting some air.”

His eyes narrow. “Try again.”

I sigh. “Damon, I—”

“You’re tense,” he says smoothly. “Your shoulders are locked. You’ve been scanning the room all night, and now you’re vanishing—classic gut instinct. You think I don’t know what you look like when you’re on high alert?”

I swallow hard.

Marius steps beside me. “Something wrong?”

Tyrone follows a second later, already scanning the crowd. His gaze lands on me.

“You’ve figured something out.”

Not a question.

I hesitate, then glance around. No one’s watching. I nod toward the curtain to our left and quietly pull them aside, slipping into the quiet room beyond.

“Some of the girls,” I say. “They’re missing.”

The words fall heavy between us.

Marius doesn’t react at first. He studies me in silence, then exhales slowly.

“They were always going to start disappearing,” he murmurs.

And just like that—I know.

They already know.

My spine stiffens. Heat coils in my gut—anger, suspicion, something sharp and dangerous.

I round on him. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

He doesn’t flinch. His gaze holds mine, blue and unreadable. He was expecting the question. Waiting for it.

But I want more than a calculated answer.

“Tell me,” I demand.

Damon’s hand tightens on my wrist—a silent warning. Tyrone, still by the curtain, scans the room with the crack open, exhaling slowly. Bracing.

Marius finally answers.

“We’ve been looking into it for the last couple years.”

I narrow my eyes. “Looking into what?”

“You already know.”

My pulse kicks. I keep my face blank, but inside, everything’s twisting. He’s testing me. Trying to gauge how much I know, how far I’ll go.

“Say it,” I snap.

Marius tilts his head. “Girls disappear from Cornell every year. It’s not random. It’s not coincidence. And it’s not some drunk sorority girl wandering off into the night.”

A chill rushes through me.

Of course I know this. It’s why I’m here. Why I embedded myself in Alpha Phi. Why I’ve played the perfect little pledge while digging for truth.

But the way he says it—like he’s been hunting, too. Like this is personal.

I cross my arms, keeping my voice cold. “And what, you just decided to investigate this yourselves?”

Marius doesn’t blink. “Would it be better if we didn’t?”

I hate how easily he turns it back on me.

Damon finally releases my wrist, but his presence is still heavy beside me. Tyrone hasn’t spoken, but I see it—the way his fingers tap slowly against his arm. A tell. He’s calculating next moves.

“So that’s why you’re here tonight?” I ask. “To investigate?”

Marius gives me a small, knowing smile. “We were always going to be here tonight. But let’s just say—we don’t like when people take what doesn’t belong to them.”

The words settle deep in my bones.

They know.

Maybe not everything. But enough.

Enough to be dangerous.

Enough to make me wonder what else they’ve uncovered.

And more importantly—why they care.

Because Marius, Damon, and Tyrone are criminals. The kind who don’t ask permission. The kind who take.

And yet—they’re watching. Waiting. Hunting.

For the same monsters I am.

Because the men taking these girls don’t follow rules. They break the ones that even criminals respect.

I force my expression into something unimpressed. “Well. Good luck with that.”

Marius smirks. Damon scoffs. Tyrone just studies me like he’s seeing something I don’t want anyone to see.

“Stay close tonight,” Marius says at last. “If you see something, tell us.”

Then he’s gone—slipping back through the curtain, vanishing into the party like we hadn’t just been discussing missing girls and a war hidden beneath Cornell’s polished veneer.

Damon lingers. His hand lifts, brushing a loose strand of hair from my cheek. The gesture is slow, too soft.

His fingers graze my skin, and my pulse stutters.

“You’re too damn good at pretending you don’t care,” he murmurs.

I don’t answer.

Because he’s right.

And for the first time, I’m not sure if that’s a strength—or a curse.