The folder felt heavier with each passing second, as if the weight of its contents could crush him where he stood.
Elian pressed it close to his chest, his mind a battlefield of conflicting choices. Around him, the masked students remained silent, watching, judging, waiting to see if he was truly one of them.
The masked leader tilted his head slightly.
"You don't have forever, Elian. Every minute you waste, she tightens her grip on the school, on the city's future."
The city.
It hit him then — this wasn't just about school politics anymore. This was about legacy, about underground powers much older and deeper than anything he could imagine.
---
Elian swallowed back the fear rising in his throat. He nodded once, curtly, signaling he understood.
He would play along — for now.
The masked leader stepped forward, handing him a black envelope sealed with crimson wax.
"Your first move," he said. "Tonight. The party at the Armand estate. You'll be attending."
"But—" Elian started.
The leader cut him off with a gloved finger raised to his lips.
"Everything you need is inside. Outfit, ID, and instructions."
Elian nodded again, clenching the envelope. The room seemed to breathe around him, shadows shifting as if alive.
---
When he emerged from the basement into the fading daylight, he felt like he had crossed into another world — one where he was no longer prey but predator.
His phone buzzed again.
Unknown Sender:
> Welcome to the first circle. You've already begun.
---
Later that evening.
Elian stood before the cracked mirror in his small dorm room, adjusting the black tailored suit that fit him like a second skin. Inside the envelope had been a high-end fake ID: Elias Moreau, heir to the Moreau shipping dynasty.
He looked... different.
Gone was the timid, hunched boy from earlier that morning. In his place stood a young man with sharp eyes, an enigmatic smile, and a posture that demanded attention.
The suit hugged his lean frame perfectly, accentuating the slight broadness of his shoulders, his long legs, and his messy, dark hair that now gave him an air of calculated recklessness.
The instructions had been clear: Blend in, gather information, don't get too close — not yet.
---
The Armand estate was unlike anything Elian had ever seen.
Towering gates swung open silently to reveal a sprawling mansion lit by soft golden lights. Luxury vehicles with outrageously customized number plates lined the driveway: "QUEEN1", "RCHBOY", "DR4MA", and one, ominously simple, "BLOOM."
Elian's heart pounded as he stepped out of the sleek black car sent for him. The other guests — students, socialites, and the children of billionaires — were already gathering on the manicured lawn, champagne glasses in hand, laughter flowing like the finest wine.
The girls wore shimmering gowns that sparkled under the lights, their beauty meticulously crafted: high-heeled shoes, long cascading hair, perfect skin glowing in the evening air.
Boys in tailored tuxedos and velvet blazers exchanged air kisses and sly smirks.
And at the very center of it all, Liliana Armand.
---
She was even more breathtaking up close.
Liliana wore a blood-red dress that clung to her perfect hourglass figure, her skin a flawless porcelain, her raven-black hair cascading over her bare shoulders in elegant waves. Her dark, piercing eyes seemed to see everything — to know everyone's secrets.
At her side, her entourage: the "Queens' Club" — a secret group of the most powerful and ruthless girls in school. They laughed and whispered like goddesses in their own private Olympus.
---
Elian slipped into the crowd effortlessly, marveling at how nobody recognized him. To them, he was just another rich boy, another pawn in their endless game of seduction, betrayal, and ambition.
He picked up a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and sipped cautiously, his senses on high alert.
---
He moved like smoke through the party, listening.
Conversations about campus politics. Scandals. New livestream companies buying students to create viral content. Arranged marriages discussed like business deals.
Some girls laughed about "catching a billionaire husband by graduation."
Others whispered about hidden inheritances, of ancient rivalries between the rich families.
Elian's ears caught it all.
---
And then —
"Who's that new guy?" a silky voice murmured close to him.
He turned slightly to see her — Liliana herself — staring straight at him, a curious smirk playing at her lips.
Their eyes locked.
For a heartbeat, the entire party faded into silence.
Liliana's gaze was sharp, almost predatory.
She sauntered closer, each step calculated, her hips swaying just enough to be mesmerizing.
"You look… deliciously unfamiliar," she purred, her voice low, velvet-smooth. "I don't believe we've met."
Elian's mind raced.
Play the role.
He offered a lazy, charming smile. "Elias Moreau. Transfer student. I hear your parties are legendary."
Liliana's smile widened, her pearly teeth flashing.
"You heard right," she whispered. Then, leaning closer, she brushed her fingertips across the lapel of his jacket — a gesture so intimate that a few heads turned to watch.
"You'll find Aurelia High is full of... surprises," she said. "Stick with me tonight. I'll show you."
---
As Liliana led him deeper into the glittering heart of the party, Elian realized something chilling.
She wasn't just a queen.
She was the puppet master.
And he had just stepped willingly into her web.
---