Chapter 1

Elara's POV:

I shouldn’t have come to this party.

The music pulsed like a heartbeat through the walls, echoing in my ears and settling somewhere deep in my stomach, where nerves danced with something like regret. The air smelled like cheap cologne, spilled vodka, and entitlement, everything I tried to avoid.

I didn’t belong here.

My sweater clung awkwardly to my frame, my glasses kept slipping down the bridge of my nose, and I was probably the only one not live streaming this night on social media. In fact, I doubted anyone even noticed I was here.

Until he did.

Leonard Shaw.

Golden boy. Star of the basketball team. Marketing major. Walking charisma. The kind of boy you see in teen dramas, the one who never looks your way unless it’s for a laugh. And for four years, I had mastered the art of fading into the background every time he was around.

Except tonight.

He was drunk. Sloppily, slurringly drunk. Laughing too loudly. Eyes slightly unfocused. The red Solo cup in his hand was nearly empty when he bumped into me in the hallway near the guest room.

“Whoa,” he said, steadying himself on the wall and blinking down at me. “Hey. You go to our campus, right?”

I froze, gripping my tote bag tighter. He didn’t recognize me. Of course he didn’t. But something in his tone wasn't mocking, just… curious.

“Yeah,” I managed. “I’m… Elara.”

“Elara.” He tasted the name like it was new, foreign, delicate.

He smiled. God help me, he smiled. And not the practiced smirk he wore on magazine covers or during class debates, no, this one was lazy and real, like the alcohol had peeled away the part of him that always judged. And I saw him. Just him.

And for a foolish second, I let myself believe that maybe, for once, someone saw me too.

We talked. Just the two of us. About classes. Music. Stupid dreams. He asked what I wanted to do after graduation. I told him about sketching dresses in secret, and he didn’t laugh. He actually said, “That’s kinda hot.”

I should’ve walked away then.

But I didn’t.

He leaned closer, the scent of whiskey on his breath and a glint of something dangerous in his eye. “You’re… really pretty, you know? Not in a flashy way. In, like… an honest way.”

I’d never been called pretty before. Not once. And certainly not by him.

That’s all it took.

One compliment. One look. One night.

When I woke up, the sheets were wrinkled, and sunlight sliced through the curtains like a knife.

My throat was dry. My head pounded. And the ache between my legs was a cruel reminder of the choice I’d made.

He was still there, lying next to me, one arm flung over his eyes. His chest rose and fell steadily, and for a brief, fragile second, I just stared at him.

Leonard Shaw. In my bed.

I wanted to believe it meant something.

But when he stirred, opened his eyes, and saw me, really saw me, his face went pale. His body stiffened. Then he sat up, eyes narrowing, as if trying to piece together a nightmare he didn’t remember agreeing to.

“What the hell…?” he muttered.

I sat up too, holding the blanket to my chest. “We… last night. You were drunk. I didn’t...”

He stood, fast. “This didn’t happen.”

My stomach dropped. “What?”

He ran both hands through his hair, swearing under his breath. “This was a mistake. A huge mistake. Don’t tell anyone, or I swear you’ll regret it. Understand?”

He didn’t even look at me.

I nodded, numb. “Yes.”

Of course I understood. Even if I told someone, who would believe it? Leonard Shaw slept with the nerd girl? It sounded like a punchline. A cruel meme waiting to be shared.

He was gone five minutes later.

I tried to forget. I really did.

But when I got to campus that morning, whispers followed me.

“Did Leonard really sleep with her?”

“No way. She probably made it up.”

“She’s like… invisible. He’d never.”

I didn’t know who told. Maybe someone saw us leave the party. Maybe he said something in passing. Maybe I was just cursed.

But the worst came during lunch, in the middle of the quad.

Leonard strolled up with his usual pack of friends. His jaw was tight. I looked up from my notebook, heart pounding.

He pointed straight at me. “Shut up. I’m not that desperate.”

Laughter.

He stepped closer. “Hey, you ugly, stop spreading rumors that we hooked up, alright? It’s gross.”

My lips parted. I wanted to speak. To defend myself. To say something. Anything.

But nothing came out.

Just silence.

I sat there, humiliated. Crushed. And completely alone.

That night, I threw away the dress I wore. Deleted every sketch. Packed up my things.

And disappeared.

No goodbyes. No explanations.

He probably still didn’t even know my name.

But someday, I’d make sure he never forgot it.