Chapter 8 : The Academy's winter ball
The morning after the storm that was Lucien's fury, Aria woke up with a strange ache in her chest. Not from fear—but confusion. What was that last night? His red eyes, his anger, the way he looked at her like she was a temptation he didn't ask for but couldn't resist.
He hadn't said another word after storming into the bathroom. And this morning, he was gone again. Not a single trace of him remained, except for the faint scent of something dark and cold.
She sat on her bed, brushing her tangled hair, eyes still heavy with sleep when the door creaked open.
Lucien.
Tall, icy, unreadable.
But this time… he was holding something.
A dress.
A long, elegant black gown with silver threads laced through the fabric. It shimmered under the morning light like moonlight on still water.
He dropped it at the foot of her bed without a word.
Aria blinked. "Um... what's this?"
He didn't meet her eyes. "You're going."
"Going where?"
"The Academy's Winter Ball."
Aria gawked at him. "A ball? Why would I—?"
Lucien raised a brow, his tone flat. "Do you want the council to think you're beneath the rules?"
"What does that even mean?" she muttered, holding the dress up.
"It means," Lucien said slowly, crossing his arms, "if you don't go, they'll take it as an insult. And if you do go looking like a disaster, they'll rip you apart."
"Wow. What a lovely invitation," she said sarcastically.
Lucien turned away, already walking to the door. "You'll be ready by seven. Don't make me regret not leaving you in the woods."
"Oh, you're all heart," she muttered, but he was already gone.
---
The gown fit her perfectly—too perfectly, which meant Lucien had either guessed her size by memory, or worse, measured her while she slept. Creepy.
Her curls tumbled over her shoulders as she stood in front of the mirror. She hadn't looked this… elegant in a long time. Not since she was human enough to believe in prom and normal high school crushes.
By the time the sun dipped behind the mountains, and the Academy halls lit up with a hundred glowing candles, Aria stepped into the ballroom.
And froze.
It was beautiful.
High ceilings with floating chandeliers. Velvet curtains. Marble floors that reflected every light. Vampires in sleek suits and ethereal gowns, their laughter echoing off the walls.
And Lucien.
He stood near the far end of the room, back straight, wearing a black tailored suit that made him look like something out of a dark fairytale. Cold. Perfect. Dangerous.
His eyes locked onto her the second she entered.
For a heartbeat, the music seemed to fade.
Then he looked away, emotionless, as if she were just another background detail.
She walked in anyway, heels clicking nervously on the floor.
"You look… decent," someone whispered behind her.
She turned. Ezra.
Dressed in navy, his usual distant eyes actually softened when he looked at her.
"You look beautiful," he corrected.
Aria smiled slightly. "Thanks. I feel like I might fall flat on my face, but hey."
"Try not to. Vampires are graceful by nature, you'll stand out enough already," Ezra teased.
She chuckled. "Wow, comforting. Thanks."
From across the room, Lucien's eyes narrowed. He took a slow sip of wine, his grip on the glass noticeably tight.
"You should be careful," Ezra murmured. "Lucien's not exactly known for… sharing."
"I'm not his," Aria said quickly.
Ezra gave her a look. "Are you sure he knows that?"
Suddenly, Lucien appeared beside them, silently.
Ezra bowed slightly. "Lucien."
"Ezra."
There was tension in the air—thick enough to taste.
Lucien's eyes didn't leave Aria. "You've had enough fun."
"I was just talking," she snapped.
"You look like you were flirting."
"I wasn't!"
"You were smiling."
"God, Lucien—"
"I told you to behave."
"I am behaving," she snapped louder.
His eyes dropped to her lips, and something flickered in his expression before he looked away.
"Then prove it," he said quietly, offering his hand.
She hesitated. "Prove it?"
"Dance with me."
She wanted to say no. But something in his voice—low and challenging—made her pulse spike.
She took his hand.
His touch was ice, but it made her burn.
As they moved onto the dance floor, the world around them blurred. His hand on her waist was firm, his steps effortless. She could barely keep up.
He leaned close, his voice like silk laced with warning.
"Do you know how hard it is to not drink you?"
Her eyes widened.
He spun her, slow and deliberate.
"Every time you breathe near me… every time your heart races. I hear it. Feel it. It calls to me."
Her throat tightened. "Lucien…"
He caught her gaze.
"I'm trying so hard to be gentle. But don't mistake that for weakness."
She blinked, her heart thudding wildly.
He smirked darkly. "I'm not the hero in your story, Aria."
And yet… she couldn't look away.