Chapter 35
Amy
The Uber turns onto the street. By Thursday afternoon, it wasn’t a secret where Saint’s house party was located. I immediately know I’ve come to the wrong place or maybe the right place. I’m just not sure which is worse.
The houses surrounding Saint’s are large, but his is the one at the end of the street, and honestly, this doesn’t look like a house.
It looks like a statement.
His house rises above the others in black stone, steel, and glass. Three stories of modern architecture illuminated against the darkness like something cut from the future and dropped into the middle of an old Gothic campus.
The driver slows.
My stomach drops.
Expensive doesn’t begin to cover it. Floor-to-ceiling windows reveal flashes of movement inside. Gold light spills across polished concrete terraces. Music pulses faintly through the closed doors, the bass carrying through the night air.
And parked directly in front of the house is Saint’s Lamborghini SVJ.
Matte black.
Low enough to look unreal.
The streetlights slide across the bodywork’s sharp angles. Even I know what it is. You don’t hang around Roman Mancini without learning the language of expensive things. The car looks dangerous standing still.
For a second, I consider asking the driver to keep going. Instead, I thank him as I get out.
The Uber disappears, leaving me standing alone staring at a house that probably costs more than everything I’ve ever owned combined.
The SVJ catches my attention again. Someone is leaning against it.
Tall.
Dark jacket.
Head lowered toward his phone. Elliot. I sent him a text letting him know when I would arrive.
As if sensing me, he glances up. His face breaks into a smile. He pushes away from the car and walks toward me. Elliot seems normal, but I know the truth.
“You actually came,” he says, relieved.
“You sound surprised.”
“I was fifty-fifty.”
“That’s rude,” I point out.
“You strike me as someone who spends Friday nights reading.”
“I do spend Friday nights reading.”
His grin widens. “See? I know people.”
I laugh despite myself, easing the tension a little.
“You like that?” he asks, nodding toward the Lamborghini.
I look away, getting caught. “Not really.”
I do, but then that would admit I’m interested in guys with money, and clearly, he knows I come from nothing.
“That’s Saint’s.”
Of course he knows. At this point, who doesn’t know Saint’s car?
Elliot gestures toward the house. “You ready?”
“Yes,” I lie, dreading what I might find inside.
“Perfect.”
He offers me his elbow dramatically.
I roll my eyes but take it anyway. Together we walk toward the entrance. The closer we get, the stranger the house feels.
Modern.
Beautiful.
Cold.
The glass reflects the night sky in fractured pieces. Hidden lighting illuminates black stone pathways that cut through perfectly manicured landscaping.
The entire property feels engineered. Designed. Every detail is intentional. Nothing accidental.
The oversized black glass front doors have a large thin handle. Music pours into the night.
Elliot leads and pushes the door open.
The first thing I notice is the ceiling.
It stretches three stories upward. Glass.
Steel. Black beams cross overhead like the ribs of some enormous cathedral.
A floating staircase curves through the center of the house.
Above it hangs a chandelier made entirely of suspended glass droplets.
Thousands of them. Each catching the light differently.
Like frozen rain. The second thing I notice is the art.
Not reproductions. Paintings. Massive canvases mounted against dark walls.
Sculptures positioned beneath spotlights.
The kind of pieces people usually see in museums. The kind of wealth that doesn’t need to explain itself.
Students move through the space carrying crystal glasses and wearing clothes worth more than my monthly rent. Nobody seems impressed, which somehow makes it worse. This is normal for them.
A girl walks past wearing a diamond necklace that probably costs more than my car back home. No one looks twice. My chest tightens.
Elliot notices because I haven’t moved an inch as I’m taking it all in.
“First time?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“A little.”
I look around again. “A little?”
He laughs. “Okay. Extremely obvious.”
The crowd parts briefly. And that’s when I see it. The pool. The entire back wall of the house is glass.
Beyond it, an infinity pool stretches across the terrace overlooking the woods. Hidden lights glow beneath the water. Deep crimson. Not blue. Red.
The surface shifts slowly. Liquid scarlet. Like blood moving beneath glass. The reflection spills across the terrace. Across the surrounding stone. Across the faces of students gathered around the edge. The effect is beautiful. And deeply unsettling.
I can’t stop staring. “What is with the red?”
Elliot follows my gaze. “The Vikiars designed it. It’s a signature thing when it comes to all the sons of Kenyan. Apparently, they all have pools.”
That explains absolutely nothing.
He shrugs. “They’re weird.”
The water ripples. The crimson reflections move across the glass walls and black marble floors. For one strange second, it looks like the entire house is breathing. Like blood is circulating beneath it. A chill slides down my spine. The music changes, and “Contaminated” by Banks plays.
People cheer somewhere near the terrace. A girl laughs. Someone breaks a glass. But something about the house feels wrong. Not dangerous. Just...
Hungry.
Like it was built for people who never hear the word no. Elliot is saying something, but I miss it.
Because movement above catches my attention. Third floor on the balcony. Someone stands overlooking the party. A large shadow and it’s obvious they’re alone.
Everyone else is moving. Talking. Drinking. Laughing.
The shadow moves, and my heart starts pounding inside my chest.
Saint’s massive broad shoulders are on display like a work of art. He’s wearing a black tank top and a thin necklace.
He stands motionless.
The red glow from the pool rises through the glass below him, painting the underside of his face in crimson shadows. For a moment, he looks less like a student and more like something carved into the building itself.
His gaze finds mine instantly, as if he already knew exactly where I would be. That I would show up.
Just for a second, the noise of the party fades. The entire world narrows to the distance between us.
Saint doesn’t smile. He doesn’t move. He simply watches.
The same way he watched me in the lecture hall.
The library. The courtyard. The difference is that now I understand something I didn’t before.
This isn’t a man hiding in shadows. This is a man standing at the center of a world I don’t understand, and somehow everyone else already knows it.
A group of students approaches the balcony. Saint says something, and they immediately leave. No argument. No hesitation. The power in that simple exchange unsettles me more than anything else I’ve seen tonight.
Elliot notices where I’m looking. His smile disappears. “Oh.”
“What?”
His eyes remain fixed on the balcony. “Nothing.”
“It’s obviously something.”
Elliot exhales slowly. “Let’s just say if Saint is watching you...”
I look back toward the balcony. Saint is still there. Still watching. A king surveying his kingdom. And for the first time since arriving at Kenyan University, I wonder if the most dangerous thing here isn’t the Order.
Maybe it’s the man standing above all of them.
Elliot gently touches my elbow. “Come on.”
My eyes leave the balcony, and when I look back, Saint is gone.
The strange tension in my chest remains when I look away. “What?”
Elliot smiles. “You came all the way here. You should at least see the house.”
I let him guide me through the crowd. The deeper we move into the house, the more surreal it becomes.
Every room looks like it was designed by someone with unlimited money and absolutely no interest in subtlety.
A sunken lounge occupies the west wing. Black marble.
White leather. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves stretching toward a thirty-foot ceiling.
Students occupy the space like they belong there. Maybe they do. A girl sits cross-legged on a couch kissing one guy while the another is sliding his hand inside her shirt.
Another group is arguing about political campaigns in Europe. Someone mentions private islands. Another Switzerland.
The conversation continues as if both things are perfectly normal.
Elliot notices. “What?”
“Are these people real?”
He laughs. “No. They only become real after graduation.”
I shake my head. “I grew up thinking rich people were rich.”
“These people aren’t rich.”
“Then what are they?”
Elliot’s smile fades slightly. “Generational wealth with more power than the average rich person.”
The answer settles strangely like it explains more than it should.
We continue walking. The rear terrace opens before us, and cold air brushes my skin.
The crimson pool glows brighter outside.
Up close, the water looks even stranger.
Every ripple sends blood red reflections dancing across the surrounding stone.
Students stand in clusters around fire pits recessed into black concrete.
Their faces flash gold from the flames and crimson from the pool.
The effect feels almost supernatural. Like everyone is standing between heaven and hell.
The woods beyond the property disappear into darkness. I step closer to the edge. The water stretches endlessly toward the tree line. Beautiful. Dangerous. The perfect illusion.
“Pretty, isn’t it?”
I glance toward Elliot. “It looks like blood.”
He follows my gaze. “That’s what everyone says.”
“Why would they design it like that?”
“Because people around here enjoy reminding everyone they’re powerful.”
His answer feels more honest than anything else I’ve heard tonight.
Movement catches my attention. A girl disappears through a side door with two men.
All three laughing. All three already drunk.