Page 5 of With This Mask

"Better?" I scoff. "The only thing you were born with is a silver spoon up your ass." My eyes lock with his, challenging.

"Okay, okay, that’s enough." Josh's voice cuts through our spat. He wedges himself between us, his green eyes flashing with protective fire. "This isn't helping anyone."

"Stay out of it, Carter." Alec doesn't take his gaze off me.

"Both of you, stop." Isabella grabs my arm, her fingers squeezing tight. "This isn't worth it, Salem."

"Isn't it?" I snap, shaking her off. "He needs to learn he can't walk all over people."

"Like you're any better?" Alec retorts. "Always so quick to judge, but you don't know shit about me."

"Guys!" Josh raises his voice, a note of desperation creeping in. "This is ridiculous!"

"Ridiculous?" I echo, my laugh sharp as shards of glass. "No, what's ridiculous is him thinking he's better than?—"

"Should we call the cops now, or is cleaning up a murder on the docket tonight?" Charles chimes from his entourage, chuckles rising around us. They’re all clearly enjoying the show. I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. Instead, I lock my gaze with Alec's, unyielding.

"I’ll save you the trouble. Wouldn’t want to get those pretty hands dirty." I spin on my heel, leaving him to stew in his designer suit. My pulse races, but I can't help the grin that tugs at my lips. This isn't just a party. It's a battlefield. And I'll be damned if I don't come out on top.

“I need a minute,” I say to Isabella and Josh as I step away from them. They exchange looks, but neither moves to follow me through the doors.

Outside, the cool night air hits my face, a stark contrast to the heated exchange. I suck in a deep breath, my chest still tight with adrenaline. The sky stretches out, dark and endless above me, and for a moment, it feels like a reflection of what lies ahead—vast and unpredictable.

People bustle around me, entering or leaving the party. And a weight grows heavy in my stomach as I think about what just happened in there. So many people witnessed that explosion between Alec and I. The entirety of campus knows who Alec is. I’m not the only one who makes an effort to stay out of his way. But I just all but spat in his face.

Fuck.

I’ve never been one to put myself in the spotlight. But with that fight, that’s exactly what I just did.

For what?

I barely even know Alec Vanderholt outside of him always giving me a run for top marks. He doesn’t know me either. How… how did I suddenly get here? When did that fuel get poured? How did the match even get lit?

“Way to start the year, Salem,” I mutter to myself.

Tomorrow is another day at Westcroft, and who knows what it will bring. But one thing is certain: Salem Winters doesn’t back down. Not from her goals. Not from a challenge. And certainly not from Alec Vanderholt.

chapter three

The classroom door swings shut behind me with a soft click. I scan the room, and there it is—the last island in a sea of occupied desks. Right next to Alec Vanderholt again. Shit. For a second, I consider standing for the entire lecture, but that would just draw more attention. So I suck in a breath and start walking.

"Look who's gracing us with her presence. Vanderholt’s greatest nemesis,” someone mutters. I don't glance their way, don't give them the satisfaction.

Alec's eyes meet mine as I approach, ice-blue and uninviting. He shifts his muscular frame, making the chair next to him seem even less welcoming. I hesitate, just for a moment, feeling the weight of every stare in the room. But giving up isn't my style.

"Excuse me," I say, voice steady, as I slide into the seat. Personal space becomes a luxury we apparently can't afford.

"By all means," he says, voice dripping with sarcasm, not bothering to hide his annoyance. “Take a seat next to this snake, if you dare.” I settle into place, accidentally brushing his arm with mine. It ignites a line of heat in an otherwise cold exchange.

"Never said I was afraid of snakes," I reply, matching his tone. My gaze locks with his, challenging, fierce.

"Didn't take you for the masochistic type," he quips, a smirk playing on his lips, "choosing to sit next to me."

"I always knew you were the self-flattering type," I shoot back. "Take a look around and tell me what other options I had."

His laugh, low and unexpected, catches me off guard. There’s something cold and sinister to it, as if it’s a challenge.

The professor's voice slices through the murmur of the classroom, snapping me back to our surroundings. "Today we will be kicking off your semester project, which will span the entire semester. As you all know, this project will be a crucial part of your final grade, as it will account for fifty-five percent of it," Professor Harlow announces, his voice carrying authority. "Today, I'll be assigning partners for this project."

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