Chapter 18
Rosethorne Mansion - Wexley University
The first week of August is move-in week at Wexley University.
They do it this way on purpose. Give the seniors time to clear out, while letting the incoming freshman feel somewhat important.
By the time school officially starts on the Thursday after Labor Day, the campus is already buzzing.
Territory claimed. Alliances formed. Crowns unofficially passed.
And nowhere is that more obvious than Rosethorne Mansion. The chandelier in the lobby probably costs more than my soul itself. It glitters like a damn disco ball, suspended above marble floors so polished I can see my reflection staring right back at me.
Zeke grunts behind me dragging two massive Louis Vuitton suitcases. Clay follows, equally over it, juggling another suitcase in one hand and balancing an entire dress rack with the other.
“Why the hell do you girls need so many shoes?” Zeke curses under his breath.
Savannah, perfectly composed in cream heels and a silky green blouse, breezes past them and links her arm through mine.
“Because they’re fabulous and I taught them well.”
Ellie twirls ahead of us in a light blue sundress. “Can you believe this place?” she gushes. “Rosethorne is a whole lifestyle. It smells like lavender and generational wealth. Ah! I love it!”
A bellhop-looking guy in a navy suit with the Wexley University crest—a snarling black wolf framed by a burgundy shield and golden laurels—on his chest pocket jogs over and offers to help with the bags.
Ellie flutters her lashes. “Oh, you’re such a doll.”
We walk up the stairs and down the hall. At the door, Ellie turns to me, practically bouncing. “This is it. The next chapter. College. Freedom. Hot guys. And me as your roommate. You’re so welcome.”
I give her a look. “You’re exhausting.”
“You love it.”
Our room is massive. One breathtaking, impossibly perfect bedroom that looks more like a luxury suite.
Cream wallpaper with rose gold inlay shimmers in the soft light.
A blush velvet couch is tucked beneath a wide bay window, covered by sheer silk curtains that whisper when the breeze moves through.
Two ornate vanities stand like thrones against the far wall, each framed in carved gold leaf and surrounded by mirror lights.
A custom walk-in closet stretches deeper than expected, easily rivaling the wardrobe of a Carrington heiress or some Fifth Avenue legacy bride. At the far end, two over-sized canopy beds stand draped in layers of ivory and blush with plush duvets practically begging you to ruin your GPA.
The bathroom? A marble dream of polished floors, a double vanity veined in rose-gold quartz, pure gold fixtures, a walk-in rain shower with ten separate body jets… and a sauna.
Ellie lets out a delighted scream and throws herself onto the couch. “We have a velvet lounge area! I’m never leaving.”
Zeke drops the suitcases with a grunt. “Good. Saves us from having to carry this shit back out.”
Clay sets the last box down, looks around, and lets out a low whistle. “Damn. Bit of a step up from when you went here, huh honey?”
Savannah smiles, her eyes sweeping over the space. “It’s stunning. These girls are going to rule this place. I can feel it now.”
We stand there a moment, all of us. The silence soft and full. The kind that holds everything you don’t say.
Then the goodbyes start.
Savannah hugs me tight. “You’ve got this, sweetheart.”
Clay gives me a bear hug and whispers, “Make good choices. Or at least clever ones.”
I smile, blinking faster than I want to. “Thanks Mom and Dad.”
Savannah freezes for half a second and then pulls me in for another hug.
Zeke hugs me and doesn’t let go right away. When he finally steps back, his voice drops low and quiet, but dead serious. “If anyone gives you shit let me know. If you go missing, we’ll know before the cops do. And just so we’re clear…”
He turns to Ellie, expression flat. “This whole room? Bugged. Chandelier, smoke detector, even the damn candle itself. So maybe don’t confess to any felonies near that lavender one.”
Ellie freezes mid-lip gloss application. “I’m sorry, WHAT?”
I roll my eyes. “You’re insane.”
Zeke grins. “Takes one to raise one.”
The door clicks shut behind them and for the first time since we stepped foot in Rosethorne, we’re alone.
Ellie flops onto one of the canopy beds with a groan. “We’re officially on our own. Like, adulting.”
I smile faintly and pull my phone out of my backpack. “I’m going to go call my dad really quick.”
We’ve been texting all summer. Quick check-ins. I’ve FaceTimed him from the penthouse a few times and Zeke even flew him in for a few hours on the Fourth of July. But other than that, it’s stayed… distant. Not because he doesn’t want to see me. But until we find Vince, it’s just safer this way.
I’m just about to hit the FaceTime button when the door bursts open.
“Bitches! I have arrived!”
Haley.
Tall, tan, green-eyed, redheaded chaos dripping in sex. Her long, fiery waves spill down her back like a warning. Fendi crop top, black leather skirt barely clinging to her hips, and heels sharp enough to kill a man.
She saunters in like she owns the place, a bottle of Veuve clutched in one hand and zero shame in the other. Lip gloss gleaming, perfume trailing behind her like smoke, she’s the kind of beautiful that makes people stupid.
We met her at the start of summer rehearsals when Coach Javi threw the three of us together for a trial set. A few dances later, he clutched his necklace, kissed the air, clapped his hands, and declared, “This is it. This is the future of The Legacy.”
The Trifecta was born.
Haley is the heartthrob, undeniably hot, magnetic. The kind of girl frat boys dare each other to talk to. Totally taken but totally doesn’t care. She demands attention and gets it.
Ellie is the sweetheart. Smiling, sparkling, and effortlessly lovable.
I apparently get to be center stage. Javi made it clear from day one that he wanted me to be the leader. He pushed me harder, handed me choreography duties, and even whispered about plans to have us mic’d up during football games. He said it’s so we can dance and command the crowd in real time.
Coach Javi is all Latin flair wrapped in muscle and a perfect tan. Broad-shouldered, late 30s, with dark hair slicked back like he just walked off a telenovela set. His jawline’s sharp, his voice smoother than top-shelf tequila, and his presence? Dominant. Commanding.
When he enters the room the energy changes completely. Dancers snap straighter and the music obeys. When he smiles, which is rare and always earned, it lights up the whole studio.
Javi doesn’t just coach dance. He is dance. Salsa, bachata, hip-hop, contemporary, he’ll show you how it’s done, and then make you do it sexier. Every routine drips with heat. Sharp hips, fast footwork, plunging necklines, and just enough scandal to make the Wexley board sweat.
He moved here from Barcelona last year with his husband, Rico. Where Javi is command, Rico is sparkle. He’s our costume designer, obsessed with making us “unforgettable.” Legacy uniforms? Him. The Trifecta’s sexed-up masterpieces? Also him. Every slit, every shimmer, every strap… Rico.
Designing for us has become his summer religion and we’re his very hot, very bendy disciples. Ellie’s already asked if he’ll design her wedding dress one day. Girl has zero boundaries. None.
Rico’s even assigned us our own signature colors. Two each, so we can flex across styles depending on the routine.
Ellie: Bright yellow and hot pink.
Haley: Emerald green and deep teal.
Me: Cherry red and royal purple.
Statement colors. Bold. Unapologetic. Like us.
Haley’s boyfriend, Knox, runs all of our lighting and sound, syncing every cue perfectly with Rico’s hand-picked color palettes.
He also handles our entire social media presence, turning every rehearsal into a cinematic moment and every performance into instant viral gold. A tech god with a camera in one hand and a light board in the other.
He makes us look like the baddest bitches in every frame. Every filter? Knox. Every beat drop timed to a hair flip or hip pop? Knox. Every backstage reel that somehow looks like a scene out of Euphoria? Also Knox.
He built our aesthetic from the ground up—moody reds, flickering strobes, fire transitions, and captions that slap. At this point, we’re not just dancers, we’re an entire brand. A movement. And Knox is the engine running the machine.
He’s always cocky with a smirk, a vape pen tucked behind his ear, and those stupidly-perfect dirty-blonde curls he’s always pushing back with long fingers. Blue eyes bright as a summer sky, lashes criminally unfair. Haley really is one lucky bitch. The man is fine as fuck.
We’ve even got merch now! All designed by Rico and dropping soon at home games. Hoodies, posters, even a Trifecta calendar. My personal favorite is a shirt that says Property of Bella Blackwood with a very sexy picture of me on it.
Savannah’s so proud. Tex already put in an order. Nate too. And Zeke? He filed the copyright himself. He’s proud. He just won’t admit it.
“Ahh! First weekend without a rehearsal since summer started,” Haley announces, grinning like sin. “Let’s party bitches!”
She pops the bottle, sits down on the couch, and points the neck at Ellie. “Oh, Callum and August called. Said The Trifecta is officially summoned to perform at The Row tonight.”
“Of course he did,” Ellie rolls her eyes.
Callum Whitmore and August Kingsley. Kings of Carrington Row. Wexley’s star quarterback and wide receiver. Kingsley Field was named after August’s dad, a former quarterback who led the Wolves to their first-ever national championship back in the day. August never lets anyone forget it.
Ever.
“Actually, Callum’s exact words were, ‘Uh hey Hales, The Order expects The Tri to dance tonight at The Row. Be there, be hot, and for fuck’s sake, don’t be late.’”
She rolls her dark green eyes. “First off, The Tri? The fuck is that? Second, he’s such a cocky asshole. The other one like that too?”
Ellie shakes her head immediately, already digging through a pile of shoes. “No. Cade is everything Cal isn’t.”
I raise my drink. “Well, let’s give The Order a show they won’t forget.”
Haley clinks the bottle to mine. “Trifecta style.”