Page 45 of Spearcrest Queen

Alice’s lips quirk, gleaming with a fresh coat of caramel gloss. There’s a delicate glint of approval in her otherwise cool expression.

“Having fun?” she asks.

“Yes.” The truth surprises me. “I didn’t think I would.”

She orders two cocktails and leans one elbow against the bar, turning to look at me properly.

“Idid.” She tilts her head, a perfectly polished gesture of girlish coyness. “Us private school girls are practically genetically engineered for nights like these.”

I’ve never before considered myself a private school girl, and hearing her say it makes something click inside my head. Alice Liu isn’t associating with me because she thinks I might be a wolf. She’s associating with me because sheknowsI am—because we were both shaped by the same ruthless environments.

“Hm.” I let out a low chuckle, relaxing back against the bar next to Alice and nodding towards the crowd. “Well, what did you make of it all?”

Alice scoffs, scanning the crowd with the eyes of a doll and the mordant gaze of a predator. “Judge Caldwell is more impressed with himself than anyone else, which makes him easy to flatter but difficult to impress, since his greatest admirer will always be himself.”

I laugh, taking the cocktail Alice hands me. “Groves keeps asking his younger associates if they’re passionate about litigation like a Dickensian headmaster testing his pupils.”

Alice’s narrowed eyes glitter through perfectly curled eyelashes.

“Olivia Langley eats men’s testicles for breakfast, and since you come across like you enjoy a similar diet, she’ll probably offer you a summer position before the night’s over.” She takesa tiny sip, then tilts her head. “She might have competition. Looks like Eleanor Knight’s got her eye on you.”

My head snaps towards the far side of the room, where Mrs Knight stands—but doesn’t move. She looks composed and radiant, dressed in grey silk and pearls, effortlessly elegant with her hair coiled at the back of her head. The conversation around her ebbs and flows like waves lapping at the feet of a marble statue.

She catches my eye, and, to my complete surprise, she winks.

The small, private smile that follows is warm, almost proud.You’re doing great, it seems to say.Well done, sweetheart.

I smile back, and she looks away with a smooth turn of her head. I follow her gaze and my heart stills, my stomach exploding into flutters. Evan is walking up to his mother: he stoops his head to receive her kiss on his cheek.

For a moment, I allow myself the sheer lavish indulgence of watching him.

His tuxedo is black, tailored to his broad shoulders and muscular limbs, paired with a crisp white shirt, undone at the collar—no tie, no bow, no pretentiousness. It reminds me of the way he used to wear his Spearcrest uniform, with the carelessness of a young sylvan god. A fine chain glitters at his throat. His hair looks like he simply brushed his hand through it, one hand is in his pocket, and there’s an easy smile on his face as he talks to his mother.

If his mother’s the marble statue on the surf, Evan’s the laughing golden idol at her side. And he’s so beautiful it makes my breath catch.

Before I can tear my gaze away, his mother says something that makes him look up. His eyes find mine with the pin-point precision of a sniper’s scope.

For a moment, we just watch one another, indulging in the simple pleasure of justlooking. I raise my glass ever so slightly to him, and on impulse, I turn towards the bar, leaning against it and arching ever so slightly to give Evan a glimpse of my back.

I throw him a look over my shoulder: his mouth is curled at one corner. He looks me slowly up and down, sending a warm tickle up my spine. He gives me an appreciative nod and raises his hand in an ‘okay’ sign before stuffing it back into his pocket. We both look away at the same time.

“Sophie Sutton, you naughty girl.” Alice Liu’s pretty voice is smooth and amused. “You lied to my face.”

I shrug and swirl the ice in my drink. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“How Harvard of you.” Alice taps my wrist with the back of her knuckles. “Come on, drink. You’ve earned it. They’re about to announce the final donations, and after that, we’re officially off the clock.”

I take a deepsip of my cocktail, savouring the bittersweet liquid on my tongue. Tipping my head back, I let out a long, low breath, emptying my lungs, settling into the moment, letting myself enjoy the distant murmur of conversation, the glimmering of chandeliers, the warm afterburn of alcohol.

My eyes catch on a familiar face, and for a moment, the present dissolves like I’ve stepped through time, Spearcrest flashing back into focus.

Seraphina Rosenthal stands across the ballroom, the perfect blonde princess, wearing a sheer gown in the most delicate shade of gold. She looks like she might have stepped off thecover ofVogue, but at the same time, she doesn’t quite look as polished as she used to be at Spearcrest. Her silk gloves have been embellished with tiny gold safety pins and her diamond-studded earrings climb all the way up the shells of her ears. Even her signature blonde hair has been styled in an artfully messy updo, golden wisps framing her doll face.

She looks disgustingly rich, yes, but almost edgy, too, the way only expensive fashion school girls can.

Her eyes meet mine and widen with recognition. She looks me up and down slowly and I smirk, lifting my eyebrows in a silent question—a challenge, maybe. She hated me in Spearcrest, and she never missed an opportunity to remind me I didn’t belong there. And yet now, we’re both at the same gala.

To my surprise, she crosses the ballroom towards me, balancing a glass of rosé in one hand. When she reaches me, she tilts her head.

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