ThatEvening — Right after College
The sun had barely dipped behind the skyline when the Veymont mansion erupted with tension. Gianna stood in the living room, still in her college outfit — a fitted navy blazer, diamond studs peeking under dark hair, eyes puffy but defiant.
Her parents were home after a week long business trip.
Her mother, Cassandra Veymont, stepped in, sharp in a wine-colored fitted outfit and an expression colder than marble. "You allowed them to humiliate you. In front of everyone."
"I didn't allow anything," Gianna shot back. "I was cheated on, Mother. I handled it."
Her father, Lucien Veymont, set down a brandy glass with a decisive clink. "Handling it would've been ending the Greystorm boy right there."
Gianna sighed. "He did it for drama. For laughs. Not for—"
Her mother interrupted. "Do you want people to say you needed Greystorm to rescue you?"
There was a moment of silence before Cassandra stepped closer. "What else?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.
Gianna hesitated.
Her fingers hovered over her phone. And then she showed them.
The message."The enemy wears a smile now. Watch who you trust next."
Cassandra's lips twitched. Lucien leaned forward.
"Where did you get this?"
"It came right after the whole scene. I don't know who sent it."
Cassandra's brows pulled into a deep frown. "Someone is playing games."
Lucien turned to his wife. "Get the tech team to trace it. If it's them... we strike."
Gianna watched their reactions, torn. A part of her wanted revenge. Another part… was just tired.
Meanwhile — Greystorm Estate, Hours Later
Tristan just sat on the dining table while their housekeeper set a tray of food beside him. He hadn't touched it.
His father, Aldric Greystorm, walked in with his usual air of steel and command. "Nice show yesterday. The Veymonts didn't know what hit them."
Beside him, his mother Sienna laughed softly, swirling her wine. "After such a long time someone put that girl in her place."
Tristan didn't respond.
Aldric stepped forward. "What is it?"
Tristan tilted his head. "She cried."
Sienna snorted. "So?"
"She never cries."
Before Aldric could retort, their butler, older and precise, entered holding a folded piece of parchment. "This was found in the study. No one knows how it got there."
Tristan took it.
His pulse jumped as he unfolded the note.
"You have been looking in the wrong direction all along."
He didn't speak. But something in his stomach twisted.
Nightfall — At College Gates
The next morning's chaos hadn't settled. As if by fate, both limos pulled up to the same gate at the same time.
Gianna stepped out first, in a black trench coat over a fitted white dress. Sleek sunglasses. Unbothered queen energy. Except she wasn't unbothered — not entirely.
Tristan stepped out seconds later, dressed to kill as always — charcoal coat, collared navy shirt, smug smile locked and loaded.
"Out of my way," Gianna muttered.
"Easy," he said.
Tristan stepped closer. "So what, you want me to apologize for being right?"
"No," she said, stepping toe-to-toe with him. "I want you to remember the ballroom moment. Because when I get back at you, I won't need a stage."
Tristan tilted his head, eyes sweeping her face. "Careful, Veymont. That sounds like flirting."
A gasp rose from the onlooking crowd of students. Phones out. They knew this wasn't a fight — this was war.
Gianna's lips twitched in fury. "In your dreams."
"Every night," Tristan smirked.
Before she could fire back, Emrys appeared, sliding in between them.
"Maybe take this inside?" he said gently, glancing around.
Gianna blinked, taking a step back. Tristan's eyes darkened at the sight of Emrys standing beside her. He hated how natural that looked.
Later — In the Music Room
Gianna sat beside Emrys at the baby grand piano, watching his fingers move fluidly.
"You're good," she murmured.
Emrys shrugged. "Helps me think."
"You don't talk like them."
"I'm not like them," he said, then paused. "You're not either."
She glanced at him. "Then what are we?"
"Outliers," he said. "Caught between dynasties and expectations."
She smiled slightly. "Sounds poetic."
"Sounds lonely," Emrys replied.
From the shadows of the hallway, Celeste Greystorm ( Tristan"s cousin) — back from her exchange semester early — watched the two with narrowed eyes. She pulled out her phone, sent a text.
To: Sabrina RedwickThey're getting close. You were right.
Late Night — Veymont Mansion
Cassandra Veymont paced the drawing room. Lucien sat, swirling a glass.
"She got a message," Cassandra said, "and it wasn't from the Greystorms. That much is clear."
Lucien nodded. "Then who?"
"We find out. We're not losing this war because of some ghost in the system."
He nodded once. "Tomorrow, you'll go meet with the board. I'll talk to our people at the Redwick firm. Quietly."
Late Night — Greystorm Mansion
Tristan stood by the window of his suite. The note was still in his hand.
You have been looking in the wrong direction all along.
He'd mocked Gianna, and he didn't regret it.
But something felt off.
Someone was moving pieces on the board — and for the first time, he wasn't sure who.