Chapter 1 - Ivy

The Party.

I didn't belong here.

Not at this party. Not in this house. Not under lights that flashed pink and purple like a panic attack, surrounded by drunk laughter, pounding music, and girls who moved like they'd done this since birth.

The whole place smelled like beer, sweat, and something uncomfortably close to sex.

I stood frozen near the front door, clutching my little white purse like it could protect me from everything I wasn't ready for. My roommate had already vanished into the crowd, swallowed up by the rhythm and noise. She begged me to come. "One night," she'd said. "You have to have at least one real college party. You'll regret it if you don't."

And maybe she was right.

I just wished I didn't feel like I was about to be eaten alive.

Someone bumped into me with a half-full drink. I flinched, mumbled, "Sorry," even though it wasn't my fault. He grinned and moved on, already focused on someone else.

My hand flew to my skirt—shorter than anything I'd worn before—and I tugged it down on instinct. My cardigan wasn't doing much to make me feel better, but I hadn't had the nerve to leave it behind.

Everything inside me screamed to leave. To turn around. to go back to my dorm, curl up in my bed with my stuffed animal, and pretend I wasn't the most hopeless, awkward girl in the world.

And then I saw him.

Leaning against the kitchen counter like he owned the room. Black t-shirt clinging to broad shoulders, dark jeans hanging low on his hips. One hand holding a red Solo cup like he didn't even need to drink to feel good here. His lips curled lazily at something someone said, but his eyes didn't smile.

They didn't smile at all.

Jace Wilder.

I recognized him immediately. Everyone did. He was campus-famous before orientation even ended. I'd overheard stories. Whispers. Warnings. Star football player. Tattooed trouble. Sleeps around. Breaks hearts. Doesn't call. Doesn't care. He was the type girls either swore off or threw themselves at.

And he was looking at me.

I froze.

I didn't know what to do. Didn't know why he was looking. I wasn't dressed like the other girls. I wasn't dancing or laughing or even trying to pretend I belonged. I was standing alone, probably screaming inexperienced with every nervous glance.

He didn't look away.

Something inside me pulled tight.

Before I could stop myself, I started walking toward him. My legs felt shaky. Stupid. Brave. My stomach flipped and twisted, but I couldn't not go. There was something in the way he looked at me—like he didn't know what I was, but wanted to figure it out.

When I was close enough to speak, I opened my mouth--and nothing came out.

He beat me to it.

"You're going to get eaten alive looking like that."

His voice was rough and low, like smoke wrapped in velvet. I blinked.

"Excuse me?"

He pushed off the counter slightly, one eyebrow lifting. "You shouldn't be here."

"I—I go to school here."

"No doubt." His eyes raked over me, slow and unreadable. "You just don't exactly blend in."

I crossed my arms, clutching my elbows. "I'm new."

"Freshman?"

I nodded.

He tilted his head slightly. "Homeschooled?"

My stomach dropped. "How did you know that?"

He smirked. "Lucky guess."

"I'm not that obvious."

"You kind of are." He took a sip from his cup, watching me over the rim. "You've got that whole wide-eyed, I've-never-seen-a-house-part-before vibe going strong."

"I haven't," I admitted quietly. "This is my first."

"No shit?" He leaned against the counter again, eyes narrowing just a little. "First party ever?"

I hesitated. "Yeah."

Something flickered across his face. Curiosity. Maybe concern. Maybe something else.

"You look like a lost kitten."

My cheeks flamed. "I'm not lost."

"You sure?"

I lifted my chin. "I knew what I was doing when I came over here."

That caught him off guard. His mouth twitched.

"Did you now?"

"I've heard of you," I blurted, immediately regretting it.

He laughed. Not a full laugh—just a huff through his nose. "Yeah? What've you heard?"

I hesitated. "That you're experienced."

His eyebrows shot up. "That's a polite word for it."

I bit my lip. "I didn't mean it--like that. I just--" I couldn't finish the sentence.

"You came over here because you were curious," he said, stepping closer. "That's okay. I don't bite."

My heart thudded.

He was standing so close I could see the tiny scar at the corner of his mouth. The way his lashes curled. The shadow of stubble across his jaw.

"You've never done this before," he said quietly.

"I've never done anything before."

There it was.

Truth. Loud and terrifying.

He didn't react how I thought he would. No smirk. No joke. He just watched me.

"Then why me?" he asked, genuinely. "Why walk up to me?"

I swallowed hard. "Because you don't look scared of anything."

His expression shifted.

Just a little.

"You should be," he murmured.

He didn't say it like a threat. He said it like a fact.

He glanced away. Someone across the room called his name. He looked back at me once more—like he wanted to say something, or maybe touch me, or maybe never see me again—and then he stepped past me.

I turned to watch him walk away.

My heart was still pounding.

My legs still trembling.

And even though he didn't ask for my number or touch my hand or say anything remotely romantic... I already knew I'd remember this night forever.