Page 4 of With This Mask

But one little fact keeps me from fully reveling in the moment. How the hell does Alec Vanderholt know my name?

chapter two

“I can't believe I let you two talk me into this,” I say as I smooth down my sundress one last time in the mirror. Isabella and Josh are already waiting for me by the door. I feel a pang of envy at how they can be so excited and carefree. The thought of taking a night off is stressing me out.

"Come on, Salem, it'll be fun! You can't just hide in your room all night," Isabella says, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “TGIF, girl!”

"I'm not hiding," I protest, but even I can hear the lack of conviction in my voice.

Josh rolls his eyes. "You know what she means. You've been cooped up in that library all week. You need to let loose a little."

I sigh, knowing they're right. It's been a long week of classes and studying, and I could use a break. So, steeling myself for a much more extroverted night than I’m up for, I follow my best friends out onto campus.

Twenty minutes later, we push through the polished oak doors of the student center, the clamor of the campus event swallowing me whole. The air buzzes with anticipation, a live wire sparking from wall to wall. The beat of some indie band throbs through the floorboards, rattling my bones. Colors whirl as students dance, laugh, and shout over the music. They're a blur of privilege, a sea of careless joy I can't afford to drown in. Not when every textbook, every credit, every damn pencil mark on an exam means more than they could ever guess.

Isabella grabs my hand, pulling me into the whirlwind of bodies that pulse with the rhythm of the music. The scent of sweat and spilled beer mingles in the air. But we absorb deeper and deeper into the crowd, and I feel the deep base of the music in every part of my body.

With every passing minute, I force myself to relax. I’m twenty-two, dammit. I’m supposed to be living life, making mistakes and memories.

So, I let the music wash over me.

I twirl and sway. I dance with my friends. I laugh.

I’m just Salem the woman for a while, not the over exerted student.

Laughter bubbles up from deep within me as Isabella attempts a daring move that ends in a tangle of limbs on the dance floor. Josh is quick to join in, adding his own hilarious missteps to our impromptu routine.

The world narrows down to this moment, where I shove aside my ever-present worries, and for once, I live in the moment.

As the music shifts, I spin, and with the momentum, my back collides harshly with something solid and huge.

“I’m so sorry—” I begin to apologize, but my words fall flat when a head of blond hair turns, and I find myself eye to eye with the cold blue iris’ that belong to Alec Vanderholt. His blond hair catches the strobe lights, an eyebrow arching in perfect, practiced condescension.

"Winters," he says smoothly, sharp as a knife's edge. It's not friendly. Never is with his lot. The golden boy of Westcroft University stands there while his entourage fans out around him like peacocks preening their feathers—designer jeans, watches that cost more than my tuition. And of course, beside him, Victoria Harding hangs on to him like he’s her only tether to reality.

The entire school knows they’re all but an arranged marriage.

"Vanderholt," I shoot back, steel in my tone. I face him, eye-to-eye, refusing to be the one who flinches first. My heart hammers, but I've learned how to keep my cool—mostly. "Enjoying the party?"

"Would be," he drawls, smug smile playing on his lips, "if the charity cases actually knew how to walk. Or dress for that matter."

Victoria laughs, and it makes my entire being hate her.

Heat flares in my chest, anger coiling tight. I love this dress. It might be from a secondhand store, but I feel damn fantastic in it. So, I refuse to let him get under my skin about it. "Well, Vanderholt, unlike you, I didn't come here for the view. I came to actually, you know, learn something."

"Learn?" He scoffs, eyes glinting. "What? How to crash an event above your pay grade?"

"Better that than learning how to waste Daddy’s money." My words are a dagger, aimed straight at his ego. Our spectators make oohhh sounds at my dig.

"Careful, Winters," he warns, leaning closer so that only I can hear the venom in his voice. "You wouldn't want to bite the hand that feeds you. Did you know that my family covers thirty percent of the scholarships this school offers?"

"Fuck you, Vanderholt." My words are a blade, sharp and sure. "I work twice as hard for everything while you coast through life on charm and a bank account."

"Charm?" He feigns a wounded look. "You think I'm charming?"

"About as charming as a snake," I say, my hands clenching at my sides. "And just as deadly."

"Ooh, I'm hurt." He places a hand over his heart, mocking. "And here I thought we were having a moment. Tell me,” he says coldly as he takes a step closer, leaning in and saying the words just a breath away from my ear. “Does it get exhausting, trying to keep up with people who were just born better?"

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