-Prologue-
Dane's POV
48 hours before Matthew Reign's Party
"Tomorrow @ Reign's Mansion. Bring the stuff. You're welcome to stay if you'd like.
—Rick"
I deleted the text without a second thought, tossing my phone onto the bed. Stretching, I got up to start the day, already dreading the long hours ahead at my uncle's shop. That damn truck had been giving us hell all week, and today wasn't going to be any easier.
Before heading to the garage, I stopped by the local café to grab coffee and pastries for my uncle and me—a little peace before the chaos. The familiar smell of fresh brews and baked goods filled the air as I placed my order, the warmth of the café a stark contrast to the cold outside.
As I turned to leave, I froze.
"Nicholas Daniels," I murmured under my breath. My old high school music teacher was standing just a few feet away, his kind smile as familiar as it was back then, though now it seemed dimmer, weighed down by life's toll. His hair was a little thinner, his face lined with age and something heavier—fatigue, maybe. Even so, he was still him, the closest thing to a father figure I'd had besides my uncle.
"Dane? Gosh, look at you!" he exclaimed, his face lighting up as he spotted me. "It's so good to see you."
I smiled back, genuinely glad to see him, even though it felt like a lifetime since we'd last spoken. "Mr. Daniels! It's been too long, hasn't it?"
"It sure has. How are you, boy? How's college treating you?" His voice carried the same warmth and curiosity it always had, but his question made my chest tighten.
I hesitated. How do you explain failure to someone who once believed in you?
"I, uh..." I scratched the back of my neck, forcing the words out. "I dropped out."
The smile on his face faltered—not in disappointment, but in quiet understanding. That same worried look he used to give me back in high school crept into his eyes, like he was already piecing together why.
Before he could say anything, I rushed to fill the silence. "It got too expensive," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "The scholarship barely covered anything, and with my mom's treatments and..." I trailed off, shaking my head. What was the point of explaining? It didn't make it any better.
His hand came down gently on my shoulder, his voice soft and full of the care I remembered. "Hey, hey. It's okay, Dane. I understand."
I swallowed hard, nodding. "I'm trying, you know? Still working, still playing music."
"You're still working on your music?" he asked, his expression brightening just a little. "I hope so. You've got too much talent to let it go to waste."
I managed a small smile, despite the lump in my throat. "Yeah. We've got a couple demos out. Still working hard on it."
"And that guitar?" he asked, a glimmer of nostalgia in his voice. "The one I gave you?
"Of course," I said, smiling fully now. "Still got it. Wouldn't trade it for anything."
His smile softened, his hand squeezing my shoulder again before he let go. "Good. Don't lose sight of it, Dane. You've got something special, and I mean that."
His hand lingered on my shoulder for a moment before he pulled away, that familiar soft smile fading into something more serious.
"I've missed hearing about you, Dane," he said, his voice quieter now. "But I guess this might be one of the last times I get to."
I frowned, confused. "What do you mean?"
He hesitated, the weight of his next words hanging heavy in the air. "I'm leaving Mortwain. Got a new job in Cedarvale. I'm... starting over.”
"Leaving?" The word hit me like a punch to the gut. "Why? You love it here. You love teaching at the high school."
"I did," he admitted, his tone tinged with regret. "But that's in the past now. I haven't been at Mortwain High since you graduated. Lost the job after that." He forced a weak smile. "I didn't think anyone even noticed."
I stared at him, the pieces clicking together in my head. "What do you mean you lost the job? Why?"
Mr. Daniels let out a tired sigh, glancing down at his hands before meeting my gaze again. "There was... an incident," he said carefully. "During your senior year. Finals, to be exact. I caught one of my students cheating. You probably know him. Damien Vanderbilt."
The name hit me like a sucker punch, my jaw tightening instinctively. Of course it was him.
"I reported it," he continued, his voice steady but quiet. "Thought I was doing the right thing—upholding the rules, setting a standard. But... well, you know how it works in Mortwain. You don't cross the Vanderbilts."
I leaned forward, tension coiling in my chest. "What happened?"
His gaze drifted away for a moment, his fingers fidgeting with his coat. "Damien's father got involved. Made it into this whole ordeal. Claimed I humiliated his son in front of his peers, accused me of mishandling the situation. He said I had no right to accuse a Vanderbilt without 'proof.'" He shook his head. "The school board didn't want the fight. Neither did the administration. They sided with him, even though they knew I was right."
I clenched my fists, heat simmering just under the surface of my skin. "They fired you because of that?"
"Not immediately," he said, his tone heavy with weariness. "But the pressure didn't stop. The school board didn't want the scandal, and Damien's father made sure it didn't go away. Eventually, they let me go to... 'maintain peace.'" He forced a bitter smile. "And once the Vanderbilts have you marked, it's like poison. I couldn't get hired anywhere else in Mortwain."
"That's bullshit," I muttered, shaking my head. "All because Damien couldn't handle getting caught?"
Mr. Daniels smiled faintly, but it didn't reach his eyes. "It wasn't just Damien. His father knows how to protect the family name. It's not the first time he's done something like this, and it won't be the last."
"But why leave?" I asked, my voice quieter now. "You've been here forever. This town is your home."
His shoulders slumped slightly, the weight of the years visible in the lines on his face. "I tried to stay, Dane. I really did. But after losing the job, after everything that followed... it stopped feeling like home. Cedarvale offered me a position. It's not ideal, but it's a fresh start."
I stared at him, the frustration simmering in my chest threatening to boil over. Damien Vanderbilt. Even when he wasn't around, he was still screwing up lives. Still ruining things for people who didn't deserve it.
"I'm sorry," I said finally, my voice low and tight. It felt hollow, inadequate. "You didn't deserve that."
"Don't worry about me, Dane," he said softly, patting my shoulder again. "Life throws its punches. You just have to keep moving forward."
"Yeah, but that doesn't mean it's fair," I muttered.
"No, it doesn't," he agreed, his tone kind but firm. "But fairness isn't something you can count on. You know that better than most."
The weight of his words settled over me like a heavy blanket, and I hated how right he was. Mortwain wasn't a town built on fairness or justice. It was built on power, money, and the people who wielded both like weapons.
"I'll miss you," I said quietly.
"I'll miss you too," he replied, his smile softening. "But this isn't goodbye forever. You've got my number. And I expect updates on that music of yours. Don't leave me hanging."
I managed a small smile. "You'll be the first to know when we get our big break."
"That's the spirit." He straightened, his gaze steady. "Take care of yourself, Dane. And don't let this town swallow you whole."
I watched him leave, his figure disappearing into the crowd outside the café. For a moment, I just stood there, clutching the coffee and pastries, the weight of his words settling over me like a storm cloud.
Mortwain had always been a town that took more than it gave. And now, it had taken one of the few people who'd ever truly believed in me.
~
The Reign mansion loomed in the distance as I approached, its grand facade lit up like a beacon against the dark night. Parties like this weren't my scene, but I'd made an exception tonight. For Damien.
Was it a petty high school grudge that drove me here? Perhaps but that didn't stop me.
I slipped through the gates easily enough. Nobody stopped me; they never did. For all his pretense, Matthew Reign didn't keep a very discerning guest list. As long as you knew someone—or had something to sell—you were in.
The music thumped through the massive house, a low bassline shaking the floor. People milled about everywhere: familiar faces from high school, new ones from college, and plenty of strangers with money to burn. I wasn't here to mingle, though.
I wasn't here for Danielle, either.
I spotted her almost immediately, laughing too loudly on the terrace with a drink in hand. She was wearing some expensive dress that screamed Damien's money, the diamonds around her neck catching the light like a neon sign. She didn't see me at first. Not until I stepped closer, slipping into the edge of her orbit.
"Dane," she said, surprised but not displeased. Her smile widened, the flirtatious tilt of it unmistakable.
"Danielle," I replied smoothly, leaning casually against the railing. "Enjoying the party?"
She shrugged, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "It's alright. Never expected to see you here, didn't think this was your scene"
"Oh it isn't, but tonight I felt like doing something... different."
Her gaze lingered, her lips curving into something sharper. I knew exactly what she was thinking. She always had a thing for guys like me—rough edges, tattoos, the whole 'bad boy' aesthetic. It was obvious in high school, and time hadn't changed that.
"Damien not around?" I asked, my voice neutral.
She laughed, a brittle sound. "No. He's busy."
Her tone told me everything I needed to know. She wasn't loyal, not really. She liked the attention, the gifts, the status—but love? That wasn't part of the equation. And that worked just fine for me.
"Too bad," I said, deliberately letting my gaze drift to her lips and tight dress. "Guess he'll miss out on the fun."
Her eyes lit up at that, a spark of mischief cutting through the alcohol-induced haze. "He doesn't need to know everything."
"Of course not," I agreed, my smirk widening. "Why would he?"
It didn't take much after that. Danielle was easy to lead—too eager to play the game. I let her wrap her arm around mine, let her laugh a little louder, let her lean in just enough for people to notice. The whispers started almost immediately.
The terrace was packed by then, the party in full swing. Familiar faces turned to watch as Danielle and I stepped into the spotlight. Her hand rested lightly on my chest, and I leaned into her space just enough to make it look intimate with my hand on her waist.
She smiled up at me, her eyes glassy from the alcohol, and I could feel the weight of everyone's stares pressing down on us. Perfect.
"Relax," I murmured, just loud enough for her to hear. "We're just having fun."
Her smile faltered slightly, but she didn't pull away. She never would. This was what she wanted, after all. To be seen.
And I made sure they saw.
When she leaned up to kiss me, I didn't hesitate. It wasn't about her—not really. It was about the way the room shifted. The way conversations stopped mid-sentence. The way the whispers turned into gasps, then laughter, then something sharper.
By the time I pulled back, the damage was done.
And that's when I saw him.
Damien.
He was standing at the edge of the terrace, his face frozen in shock. For a moment, he didn't move, his gaze darting between me and Danielle. The color drained from his face, replaced by a deep, furious red.
"Holy shit," someone muttered nearby, and I saw Damien's jaw tighten. His hands curled into fists at his sides, trembling with barely-contained rage.
Danielle stepped back, her expression shifting from smug to panicked. "Damien, I—"
"What the hell, Danielle?!" His voice cut through the noise, sharp and venomous.
I leaned against the railing, crossing my arms as I met his furious glare. The satisfaction curling in my chest was almost too much. He looked exactly how I wanted him to—angry, humiliated, powerless. For once, Damien Vanderbilt wasn't untouchable. And I wasn't invisible.
