Daxton didn't host events.
It staged performances.
And everyone was playing a part, some just didn't know it yet.
The Fall Banquet was the first official gathering of the term. Part celebration, part ranking showcase, part social chessboard. To be absent was to be questioned. To show up unprepared was social suicide.
Sonia didn't want to go.
But "Silas Vale"?
He'd never miss a chance to be watched.
So, she stood in front of the mirror, shirt buttoned tight, blazer pressed, hair tousled just enough to look like she didn't try. The lines of her jaw looked sharper lately. Her eyes colder. More like his.
Or maybe less like hers.
Her fingers hovered over the silver cufflinks on the dresser.
Silas's initials were engraved in them.
SV.
Her initials, too. But the world didn't know that.
She put them on.
---
"Looking sharp, lover boy," Mavina purred as she slid into step beside her in the foyer, black heels tapping the marble like a warning.
Sonia didn't look at her. "I wasn't aware we were attending together."
"Oh, you weren't invited," Mavina said, looping her arm through hers anyway. "But Daxton assumes we're still a thing. And perception is everything."
"I'm flattered," Sonia said dryly.
"You should be." Her smile was all teeth. "I only link myself to power."
The banquet hall doors opened with a mechanical hiss, revealing a cathedral-like space strung with gold and crimson lights. Massive stained-glass windows cast glowing colors across the floor. A quartet played something rich and brooding in the corner.
Sonia scanned the room quickly. House leaders at the front tables. Faculty scattered along the walls. Staff lining the exits like polite guards. And in the far right corner was Eric.
Black suit. No tie. Hands in pockets. Talking to no one.
He glanced up and locked eyes with her.
Just for a moment.
Then he looked away.
---
Mavina steered them to the center.
They were halfway through the evening before the speeches began...long, boring declarations about legacy, tradition, excellence. Sonia let her mind wander.
Until Headmaster Quill said..
"This year, we also welcome back a returning presence.
One who, despite personal hardship, has chosen to rejoin our family."
All heads turned.
The spotlight found her.
Sonia straightened as applause rose around the room. Mavina leaned in and whispered:
"Smile. Let them see the prince they missed."
Sonia did.
And hated how easy it had become.
---
After dinner, the dance floor opened. Daxton didn't care about rhythm, it cared about optics. Who danced with whom. Who didn't.
Sonia slipped away to the balcony, desperate for air.
A shadow moved behind her.
"You looked like you were about to choke on that fake smile," Eric said, joining her.
She didn't turn. "Still keeping tabs?"
"I prefer keeping scores."
The breeze rustled her hair. She gripped the rail tighter.
"Mavina's really doubling down on the boyfriend narrative," he added. "Doesn't bother you?"
"She likes a crown," Sonia replied.
Eric stepped closer. Not touching, but close enough that she could feel the heat from his jacket.
"You're playing the game well," he said. "Almost too well."
She looked up at him finally.
"What game do you think I'm playing?"
Eric studied her face like he was trying to solve a language no one had ever taught him.
"I don't know. But it scares me how badly I want to find out."
Sonia's breath hitched.
He leaned in slightly then stopped.
Not because he changed his mind.
Because someone was watching.
They both turned.
Mavina, across the ballroom, glass in hand, eyes fixed on them like a hawk circling prey.
"You're making enemies," Eric said quietly. "Careful."
Sonia's voice didn't waver.
"Good. I'm better at war than I am at peace."
---
The night ended in a slow burn of music and murmurs. Sonia retreated early, peeling off the mask before it suffocated her.
Back in her room, she kicked off her shoes and collapsed onto the bed, mind racing.
She was losing count of how many masks she'd worn in just a week.
And how many of them felt more real than her own skin.
---
The lights in the hallway flickered once.
Then again.
Sonia sat up, alert.
A soft tap at her door.
Not a knock.
Just one tap.
She crossed the room and opened it slowly.
No one was there.
Only a single black envelope on the floor.
Inside, one sentence written in flawless cursive:
"The game ends when the imposter breaks."