“Not often,” he replied. His answering grin was downright wicked.
Gods, why did he have to be so damned good-looking?
“Tell me the story, and I promise not to tell anyone what I overheard tonight.”
I hesitated. I hardly believed him, but what choice did I have? There was nothing to stop him from whispering the details of my scandal to every soul on campus. “How do I know you’re not bluffing?”
Casimir made a show of feigning being affronted. “You wound me,” he said, pressing a hand over his heart. “I’m offended you’d accuse me of something as pedestrian asgossip.” He spoke as if he hadn’t just admitted to listening to gossip about me and August.
I fought the urge to roll my eyes at him. “I don’t know, you seem exactly like the sort of person who thrives on gossip,” I countered.
“Such slander,” he scolded, but his eyes were glinting with mirth. “And toward someone as innocent as myself.”
With his bright eyes and his white teeth glinting in the low candlelight, he cut a devastating figure. But like a handsome Lucifer cast out of Eden, he was anything but innocent.
I forced myself to tear my eyes from his. “Seriously, though, how do I know I can trust you?”
“You don’t.” He shrugged.
I huffed in frustration. “Why don’t you tell me something about yourself. Something that will show me I can trust you.”
“Like what?”
I ground my jaw. Was he trying to be irritating? “Tell me why you transferred to Ouverham.”
Reluctance flashed in his gaze. Then, almost as quickly as the emotion vanished, it was replaced by a cool mask of indifference.
“Same reason as you,” he said coolly.
He was evading the question. Interesting.
I leveled him with an icy glare. “Oh, really? So, your father also left you a scholarship when he died?”
“No,” Casimir admitted. “That’s not why I transferred here.” With a sly look on his face, he leaned in closer and whispered conspiratorially, “I hear the off-campus party scene is something straight out of a Bacchanalian revel.”
I snorted, but he wasn’t wrong. Ouverham was notorious for its wild off-campus parties, thrown by members of the Gilded Circle, the college’s most elite society.
“The parties might be wild,” I conceded. Not that I would know. With my nonexistent legacy, I was not likely to receive an invitation to one, but I wasn’t surprised Casimir had heard of them.
Rumors of secret society activities at Ouverham weren’t mere gossip—the reality was far more sinister than even a deranged outsider could imagine. Hazing and blackout-induceddeaths were common, as were induction rituals that often ended in trips to the infirmary, all neatly covered up by a corrupt administration.
I studied him closely, as though peeling back a mask. “I’ve never heard the name Wrayburn. So, unless you’re some long-lost legacy, I doubt you’ll be invited to many Gilded parties.” I didn’t bother to hide my sneer.
“Oh, don’t worry about me.” He fixed me with a dazzling smile. “I’ll be just fine.”
I frowned at his overconfidence, but I had to admit—he was charming. And good-looking enough that he’d probably get invited despite not belonging to a well-connected family.
“I don’t understand,” Casimir continued. “If you knew how horrible this place was, why did you agree to take the scholarship?”
I clenched my teeth. “Why do you think? I couldn’t afford to go anywhere else. None of the other universities I applied to offered me financial aid. Besides, what would people think if Malcolm Flynch’s only daughter refused his inheritance?” They’d think I was an ungrateful brat.
“Still, you agreed to come.” He shrugged. “You didn’t have to go to college.” Despite my scowl, he continued, “Maybe some part of you relished the challenge. Maybe you wanted to prove them wrong.”
I glared at him, not bothering to conceal my hostility. Really, the audacity of this fucking guy. He didn’t know me at all.
My father had admired Ouverham for its ghastly notoriety. Being accepted to such an exclusive, gossiped-about institution had validated his deepest insecurities—his fears of being forgotten and irrelevant. From its ostentatious architecture to its dramatic coastline, the campus and its inhabitants were designed to be seen and revered. It was the kind of place where secret societies were born and powerful people were made. Like the smallest of creatures who resided in the island’s harsh tidepools,the scholarship kids had to develop a hard exterior to survive in such an environment. If someone had told me two years ago that I’d end up enrolled at my father’s alma mater, I would’ve laughed in their face. But after my father’s funeral, I’d been too numb with grief to understand how his death would change my life trajectory. Had I known when I made my ambitious plans to flee to California that my father had left a scholarship in my name—things might have been different. I might have found time to figure a way out of it.
“You don’t know shit,” I replied coldly.