The School dance shimmered like something out of a teenage dream. Golden lights hung across the grand hall, a live band blending with soft bass as students swirled and laughed, all dressed in the best designers their rich parents money could buy.
Elizabeth stood just outside the double doors of the ballroom with Amara at her side, both of them glowing under the lights.
"Ready?" Amara asked, giving Elizabeth a conspiratorial grin.
"Not even a little," Elizabeth muttered, tugging at the hem of her emerald dress. It clung to her waist and fell in a soft cascade, simple but devastating. Her makeup was minimal, her hair loosely waved, but there was something effortless about her beauty tonight, like she wasn't even trying.
Together, they pushed open the grand ballroom doors.
Heads turned instantly. A few whispers floated in their wake. Some impressed, others laced with jealousy.
Elizabeth ignored them.
"Ohh, I can already smell the sex," Amara muttered under her breath with a devilish grin.
Elizabeth choked on a laugh. "Amara!"
"What?" Amara blinked innocently. "These students are horny as hell tonight. You can feel it in the air. Speaking of which…" She flicked her hair over her shoulder. "I need to find Chad. He deserves to see me in all my glory and splendor."
Elizabeth snorted, amused. "You're ridiculous."
"I'm irresistible," Amara corrected, already scanning the crowd.
Elizabeth scanned the crowd. Kacey was already inside, surrounded by a pack of girls who looked like they'd stepped out of a prep school catalogue.
Their eyes met.
Kacey's lips curled in a sharp, sugary smile as she lifted a glass of punch like a mock toast. But she didn't approach. Just watched.
Elizabeth's fingers twitched. The urge to march over and slap the Botox clean off her face surged hot in her chest..
Instead, she turned to Amara. "Drinks?"
"God, yes. I need something spiked," Amara groaned, looping her arm through Elizabeth's again. "If I have to be sober around these people, I'll implode."
As they crossed the room toward the refreshment table, a hand caught Elizabeth's wrist.
"Hey, Lizzie."
She turned.
Jay.
Bridgerton's golden boy. Soccer team captain. And, more notably, Kacey's ex.
"Hi…" she said, cautious.
"You look… amazing."
She blinked. "Thanks?"
Across the room, Kacey's gaze snapped in their direction. Her perfectly glossed lips tightened around the rim of her punch glass.
Jay stepped a little closer. "Didn't think I'd see you here tonight."
She pulled her wrist free, subtle but firm. "Yeah, well… I needed the distraction."
His smile didn't falter. "If you're free later—"
"She's not," Amara interjected, suddenly appearing at Elizabeth's side, her voice sweet as syrup. "Come on, babe. Let's go get punch before we punch someone."
Jay blinked, caught off guard. Elizabeth gave him a polite nod and let Amara steer her away.
Once they were out of earshot, Amara leaned in. "You're officially the main character tonight," she whispered, smirking. "And Kacey looks like she wants to pull your hair out."
Elizabeth laughed under her breath. "Let her try."
"Oh, she won't. Not tonight. Not when you look like that and her ex is practically drooling over you."
Elizabeth rolled her eyes, but a flush crept up her neck anyway. "That wasn't drooling."
"Please. He would've licked your ass if I hadn't intervened."
"God, you're insufferable."
Amara grinned. "And yet you love me."
Elizabeth laughed softly, but her smile didn't quite reach her eyes.
The music pulsed louder, a bass-heavy pop song that sent the room into synchronized chaos. Students danced like the night was their last, some already sloppily drunk, others too consumed with their own drama to notice anything else. But Elizabeth noticed it all, the swirling bodies, the flashing lights, the lingering stares.
It was too much.
The walls felt like they were closing in.
"I'm gonna get some air," she muttered to Amara.
Amara paused, mid-sip of her definitely-not-spiked punch. "Want me to come with?"
Elizabeth shook her head. "I'll be quick."
"Alright," Amara said, her voice softening. "Don't go too far."
Elizabeth slipped out of the ballroom, her heels clicking against the marble floor as she wandered the deserted hallway.
She climbed the stairs to the upper wing until she reached the final door at the end of the hall.
The rooftop.
She pushed open the heavy metal door and stepped into the cool night air.
The city stretched around the academy like a glittering ocean, lights blinking in time with her heartbeat, sky velvet-dark above her.
She let out a breath and leaned against the ledge.
And then she saw him.
Professor Stone.
Standing a few feet away near the edge, shirt sleeves rolled, tie undone, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a cigarette.
She froze.
"I figured someone would find me up here eventually," he said, voice low and rough. "Didn't think it'd be you."
"I… didn't mean to intrude."
He shook his head. "You're not."
A beat passed.
Elizabeth stepped closer. "I didn't know you smoked."
"I don't." He took another drag. "Not really. Just… one of those nights."
She folded her arms. "Is that what this is? One of those nights?"
He looked at her then, really looked. And his expression shifted, softened.
"You look…" He trailed off, shaking his head like he was trying to exorcise the thought. "Different."
"It's the dress," she said, glancing down.
"No," he said, quietly. "It's not."
The wind brushed her hair back as she leaned her elbows on the railing. "It was getting too loud in there."
He nodded. "I know the feeling."
"I'm surprised you even came to the dance," she said. "Not really your scene."
"Faculty supervision," he said dryly. "And someone has to make sure the punch bowl doesn't turn into a tequila fountain."
Elizabeth laughed.
Then she muttered softly, "Thank you."
He looked at her again. "For what?"
"For earlier. At the boutique. And… everything after."
"You don't have to thank me for doing the right thing."
"Still." She turned to face him fully. "You didn't have to get involved. Most people wouldn't have."
"I'm not most people," he said, a hint of desire in his voice that made her stomach flutter.
"No," she agreed. "You're not."
His eyes dropped to her lips.
Just for a second.
But it was enough.
The air between them tightened like a wire.
He stepped back, sharply. "You shouldn't be up here."
"I needed air."
"And I need to keep my distance," he said, harsher than he meant to. "This… isn't a good idea."
Elizabeth's pulse quickened. "Why?"
"You know why."
"I want to hear you say it."
His jaw tensed. "Because you're my student. Because this is inappropriate. Because you're underage."
"I turn eighteen next week."
He closed his eyes for a moment like he was praying for patience.
"Elizabeth…"
She took a step forward. "Do I make you uncomfortable?"
He didn't answer.
She kept going. "Is that why you avoid me? Why you never look at me for more than five seconds at a time?"
Still nothing.
So she whispered, "Do you want me, Professor?"
That did it.
His eyes snapped to hers, dark and tortured and burning with something that made her knees weak.
And then his hand gripped her wrist, not hard, just enough to still her.
"Yes," he breathed. "I do."
Her breath hitched.
"But wanting you and touching you are two very different things," he said, voice like steel beneath velvet. "And I won't cross that line. Not now."
"But you want to," she whispered.
His grip faltered.
He stepped back like she'd burned him. "Go back to the dance, Elizabeth."
She didn't move.
"Now."
"I know," she said quickly. "You're my teacher. This is wrong. We're not supposed to be up here, and I'm not supposed to be thinking these immoral thoughts…" She broke off, frustrated. "God, I don't know."
He looked at her like she was something fragile and dangerous all at once.
"Neither do I," he said, jaw tense. "I'm trying to protect you. From this. From me."
"You think I need protection?" she snapped. "I'm not a freaking child!"
He turned away, crushing the cigarette beneath his shoe.
"Go," he said.
Tears stung her eyes. But she swallowed them
She nodded and with that she turned and left.
The rooftop door clicked shut behind her.