The invitation didn't arrive in an envelope. It arrived like a storm.
Raven Moreau found it on her desk between the ashes of last night's cigarette and the lingering perfume of secrets. A folded black card, wax-sealed in deep crimson — not mailed, not slipped under her door, but placed there, deliberately. Personally. Like a threat dressed as a gift.
She stared at it, fingers hovering just above. The wax bore the emblem of the academy — a coiled serpent with a rose clenched between its teeth. Sinners Academy didn't host ordinary parties. Not with its legacy of whispered traditions and masked nights that never made the yearbook.
Her roommate, Ayla, peeked over her shoulder, chewing on the end of a pen. "That looks expensive. And dangerous. Who's it from?"
Raven broke the seal. Inside, in slanted ink that looked older than sin, it read:
You're formally invited to the Devil's Masquerade.
Tonight. Midnight. The Catacombs beneath Sinners.
Wear red. And don't bring your conscience.
—K
Her heart skidded against her ribs.
K. Killian Vale. Of course.
The same boy who had cornered her after Literature last week with that stupidly sharp jawline and half a smirk like he already knew the ending to her story. The same boy who always wore his school ring like it meant something — like he was royalty and everyone else was backup dancers in his private drama.
He wasn't just a student. He was part of Sinners' legacy. The kind that didn't get recorded in ink but in blood, hushed deals, and power that ran deeper than the foundations of the school itself.
She hated him. Or at least, she wanted to.
"You're not actually going, are you?" Ayla's voice had a worried lilt.
Raven pocketed the invitation. "Why wouldn't I?"
Ayla looked at her like she'd grown a second head. "Because it's a trap?"
Raven smirked. "Exactly."
---
The Catacombs were off-limits — technically. But technicality bent for legacies like Killian Vale.
Raven descended the staircase behind the chapel just before midnight. Her dress was blood-red satin, slit up to her thigh, a halter neckline, and subtle black lacing that gave off both elegance and warning. Her hair fell in loose waves, wild but intentional, like she hadn't tried too hard but still looked like a vision. Lipstick dark, eyes darker.
She knew the power of a well-placed illusion. Especially in a war.
Candles lined the crumbling stone hallway, flickering shadows into wolfish grins on the walls. Music drifted up from below — not loud, but low, heavy, and sinful. Like secrets whispered behind locked doors.
As she reached the bottom, the Catacombs opened into an underground ballroom, filled with masked students in designer debauchery. Everyone was playing a part. But some people were born into their masks.
He saw her before she saw him.
Killian Vale, leaning against a marble pillar like he owned the oxygen. Dressed in all black, a silver mask hiding half his face, and that damn ring still glinting on his finger. His gaze, however, was bare — and it was locked on her like a sniper scope.
She didn't flinch.
He walked toward her, parting the crowd with every step. People made way not out of courtesy, but caution. And when he finally stood before her, he didn't smile. Just scanned her from heels to collarbone and said, "You clean up well, Moreau."
Raven arched a brow. "You don't."
He chuckled, low and lazy. "Didn't think you'd come."
"You invited me."
"I baited you. You walked in like a promise."
She tilted her head, eyes sharp. "Be careful, Vale. Promises burn."
He didn't back down. In fact, he leaned closer — enough that she could smell his cologne, something expensive and dark and far too intoxicating.
"That's the point," he whispered.
A slow waltz began to play. Students paired off, swirling in masks and forbidden heat. Killian extended his hand. "Dance with me."
Raven hesitated.
Not because she was scared. But because she wasn't.
And that terrified her more.
---
Their bodies moved in rhythm, but it wasn't the music that guided them. It was the tension — thick, unspoken, coiled like a stormcloud between every touch.
Killian's hand was on her waist, his breath brushing her ear. Raven let her fingers rest on his shoulder, pretending it didn't feel like electricity was crackling through her veins.
"Why did you really invite me?" she asked.
"To see if you'd bite," he said smoothly. "To see if you'd run."
"And if I had?"
"I would've hunted you anyway."
She laughed, soft and dangerous. "Is that your thing? Hunting girls who won't bow to you?"
Killian's jaw ticked. For a second, the mask slipped. "No. Just the ones who look me in the eye and don't flinch."
Their steps slowed. The world shrank.
He stopped in the middle of the dance floor. Students blurred around them, but Raven only saw him. He reached up, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear.
"I know what you're doing, Raven," he said quietly. "You think you can come into my world, play by your own rules. But Sinners has a way of swallowing rebels."
She met his stare, voice like steel wrapped in silk. "Then I guess I'll make it choke."
Something shifted in his eyes — not anger. Something hotter. Sharper. Admiration disguised as warning.
He leaned in. Close enough to kiss her.
Close enough to ruin her.
And then he whispered, "You should be careful who you make enemies with."
Her lips curved. "You should be careful who you underestimate."
---
Later that night, Raven stood alone at the edge of the Catacombs, watching masked silhouettes blur together in heat and history. Her chest was tight — not from fear, but from knowing something had begun. Something she couldn't stop now.
Behind her, a voice murmured, "He doesn't bite unless you ask him to."
She turned. It was Lux D'Arcy — Killian's half-sister and, apparently, the school's unofficial queen bee. Blonde, cold, untouchable.
Raven tilted her head. "Is that a warning or an invitation?"
Lux smirked. "Both."
Then she walked away, disappearing into the velvet fog of the masquerade.
Raven looked down at her gloved hands. The crimson of her dress looked darker under the candlelight — like blood.
She didn't know if she had danced with her rival tonight... or her ruin.
But one thing was clear.
This wasn't just a game anymore.
It was war.