HIS FAVORITE SCANDAL

HIS FAVORITE SCANDAL

By Sigma Soul

CHAPTER ONE

The Girl Who Didn't Look Twice

CAMILLE

There were three things I knew about Sterling Heights University.

One, money could buy almost anything.

Two, the people who had money were usually convinced it made them interesting.

And three, if Talia Rivers said the words “Trust me, this will be fun,” I needed to start praying immediately.

“Stop staring at your reflection like you're preparing to attend your own funeral.”

I glanced at my best friend through the mirror.

“I'm trying to decide whether this dress makes me look expensive or whether I look like I borrowed someone's credit card and developed an attitude.”

Talia stared at me.

Then she blinked.

Then she laughed so hard she nearly dropped her phone.

“You are actually sick.”

“Thank you. I've been working on it.”

I turned back towards the mirror, smoothing the fabric of my black dress over my hips. It was elegant without trying too hard, fitted at the waist, with delicate straps and a neckline that made the whole thing look far more expensive than it was. My curls fell over my shoulders, glossy beneath the bedroom lights.

A little gold jewellery. Soft makeup. Gloss.

Done.

I looked good.

Not that I needed a party full of overprivileged university students to confirm it.

Talia appeared beside me, adjusting one of her earrings. She wore a deep burgundy dress, her hair styled neatly away from her face. She looked beautiful, composed, and entirely too pleased with herself.

“You know,” she said, examining me in the mirror, “there's a very high chance you'll meet someone tonight.”

“There's also a very high chance I'll meet someone with the personality of an expired yoghurt.”

“Camille!”

“What? I'm being realistic.”

“It's a university party, not a job interview.”

“Exactly. At least at a job interview, the man has to pretend to have qualifications.”

Talia pressed a hand over her mouth.

I grinned.

She shook her head. “One day, your mouth is going to get you into serious trouble.”

“Then I'll apologise beautifully.”

“You never apologise beautifully.”

“I have a beautiful face. Surely that counts for something.”

“Your confidence is a public safety concern.”

“Put it on a T-shirt.”

She threw a cushion at me.

I caught it.

Naturally.

By the time we left, Talia had reminded me approximately seventeen times that I was supposed to enjoy myself. I reminded her that I enjoyed myself perfectly well without romantic complications.

She responded by calling me a liar.

Our friendship was built on love, loyalty, and the mutual desire to humble each other whenever necessary.

Mostly the third one.

Sterling Heights University looked almost unreal at night. The old stone buildings glowed beneath carefully arranged lights, their tall windows reflecting the darkness. The central courtyard had been transformed for the annual welcome party, with sleek black decorations, gold lighting, and music loud enough to make sensible conversation an endangered species.

Luxury cars lined the entrance.

Students in designer clothes gathered in polished little groups, laughing like their lives were sponsored.

I stepped out of the car and looked around.

“Well,” I murmured. “Subtle.”

Talia linked her arm through mine. “Don't start.”

“I haven't said anything.”

“Your face has.”

“My face is entitled to freedom of expression.”

“Your face is about to get us banned.”

We walked inside.

The music rolled through the courtyard, deep bass vibrating beneath my feet. A chandelier hung over the main hall, scattering warm light across the crowd. Servers moved between tables carrying drinks, and people greeted one another with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for people who had just inherited property.

I recognised a few faces from lectures.

Most of them recognised Talia.

Within ten minutes, she had greeted three people, been complimented twice, and received an invitation to join a group near the dance floor.

I watched her go with a shake of my head.

“Don't get kidnapped,” I called.

She turned around. “By whom?”

“Someone with a trust fund and no hobbies.”

She gave me a rude gesture.

I blew her a kiss.

Then I went in search of something to drink.

I had barely reached the refreshments table when I noticed the commotion near the far side of the hall.

Not because I was interested.

Because the noise was ridiculous.

A group of girls stood near a tall young man dressed in black trousers and a white shirt, his sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms. He wore a watch that probably cost more than my semester's expenses, and he carried himself with the relaxed confidence of someone who had never been told no often enough.

Dark hair fell casually across his forehead. His jaw was sharp, his posture easy, and his smile looked like it had caused problems in at least three different households.

He said something to one of the girls.

She laughed.

He smiled wider.

Two other girls immediately tried to get his attention.

I stared for a moment.

Then I reached for a glass.

“Must be exhausting,” I muttered.

A voice beside me asked, “What is?”

I glanced at the girl standing next to me. She followed my gaze towards the man in black.

“Oh. Sebastian Sinclair.”

The name meant something to her. Her expression practically announced it.

I waited.

She looked at me. “You don't know who he is?”

“Should I?”

She gave me a look of genuine concern, as if I had confessed to never having heard of electricity.

“His family owns half the things people here pretend they don't care about. He's basically university royalty.”

I looked back at Sebastian.

He was laughing now, one hand tucked into his pocket while a friend said something in his ear.

“University royalty,” I repeated.

“Pretty much.”

“Does he come with a crown, or is the ego included in the tuition?”

The girl choked on her drink.

I smiled politely and walked away before she could decide whether I was joking.

I wasn't entirely sure myself.

What I did know was that I had no intention of spending my evening admiring a man simply because other people had made a hobby out of it.

I had a scholarship to maintain, a degree to earn, and a mother who would ask what I had learned at university before asking whether I'd enjoyed myself.

Sebastian Sinclair could rule his little kingdom.

I had no interest in applying for citizenship.

At least, that was what I believed before he noticed me.

And apparently, he had opinions.

Because when I passed his group on my way towards the courtyard, I heard a male voice behind me.

“Careful. People usually look where they're going at parties like this.”

I stopped.

Slowly, I turned around.

Sebastian Sinclair was looking directly at me.

Up close, he was annoyingly handsome.

I would have preferred if he weren't.

His eyes travelled over my face with casual interest, and one corner of his mouth lifted.

“Wouldn't want you to walk into something you can't afford.”

His friends went quiet.

I looked at him.

Then at the watch on his wrist.

Then back at him.

A smile spread across my face.

“Oh, don't worry.” I tilted my head. “If I accidentally walk into your ego, I'm sure I'll recognise the damage. It's taking up the entire room.”

Silence.

One second.

Two.

Then somebody behind him burst out laughing.

His friend doubled over, gripping the man's shoulder. Another covered his mouth, unsuccessfully attempting to hide a grin.

Sebastian's smile faltered.

Only slightly.

But I saw it.

I picked up my glass from a passing tray and took a small sip.

“Enjoy your evening, Your Highness.”

Then I turned and walked away.

I didn't look back.

I had no idea that, behind me, Sebastian Sinclair was watching me leave with an expression that had absolutely nothing to do with amusement.

And everything to do with curiosity.

Which was unfortunate.

For him.

---

SEBASTIAN

I had been insulted before.

It came with the territory.

When your surname opened doors, people tended to develop opinions about you before they developed the courage to speak to you. Some wanted something. Others wanted to prove they weren't impressed.

Most tried too hard.

Camille Laurent hadn't tried at all.

She had looked at me like I was an inconvenience she'd encountered on her way to something better.

And then she'd walked away.

I stared after her.

Beside me, Jace Callahan made a strangled sound.

I turned my head.

“Don't.”

He pressed his lips together.

“Jace.”

His shoulders started shaking.

“I'm warning you.”

He lost the battle.

Laughter erupted from him, loud enough that two people nearby turned to look.

“You just got murdered,” he managed.

“I was standing right there.”

“Physically, yes. Spiritually? I'm not sure you'll recover.”

I gave him a flat look.

Jace wiped at the corner of his eye. “The ego line? Sinclair, I'm framing that.”

“Finish laughing.”

“I can't. I'm experiencing a historic event.”

I took a slow sip of my drink.

I wasn't embarrassed.

Not exactly.

I simply wasn't accustomed to being dismissed by someone who had barely looked at me twice.

There was a difference.

“She doesn't know who you are,” Jace said, following my gaze towards the courtyard.

“Apparently.”

“That's bothering you.”

“Nothing about this is bothering me.”

“Then why are you looking at her?”

I looked at him.

He smiled.

I hated him.

I looked back towards the courtyard.

The girl was standing beside another young woman now, listening to something she was saying. She laughed, throwing her head back slightly, completely unaware that she had become the most interesting person in the room.

Or perhaps she was aware.

Perhaps she simply didn't care.

That possibility was considerably more irritating.

“Who is she?” I asked.

Jace's smile widened so slowly that I immediately regretted speaking.

“Her name is Camille Laurent.”

I repeated it silently.

Camille Laurent.

“Do you know her?”

“Not personally. She's in a few classes with people I know. Scholarship student. Apparently brilliant. Has a reputation for saying whatever comes into her head.”

I watched her take another sip from her glass.

“Sounds charming.”

“You're smiling.”

“I am not.”

“You absolutely are.”

I set my drink on a nearby table.

Across the room, Camille glanced in our direction.

For one brief second, our eyes met.

She raised her glass towards me.

A tiny, perfectly innocent gesture.

Then she turned away.

Jace made a noise beside me.

“If you embarrass yourself trying to impress her, I'm recording it.”

“I don't embarrass myself.”

“Tonight suggests otherwise.”

I ignored him.

My attention remained on Camille as she disappeared into the crowd.

I didn't know what she studied, what she wanted, or why she'd looked at me as though my family name meant absolutely nothing to her.

But I intended to find out.

Not because I wanted to prove I could win her over.

That would have been ridiculous.

I simply disliked unanswered questions.

And Camille Laurent had just become one.

---

My phone vibrated.

A notification appeared on the screen.

THE STERLING CONFESSIONS

A new post.

I nearly dismissed it. The account had been circulating campus rumours for months, usually about cheating scandals, drunken arguments, and people who apparently considered posting their entire private lives online a personality trait.

Then I read the headline.

SOME BREAKUPS AREN'T WHAT THEY SEEM. ASK SEBASTIAN SINCLAIR WHY HE REALLY LEFT VIVIENNE ASHFORD.

My smile disappeared.

Below the headline was a second line.

Funny how the people who know the truth always stay quiet.

For a moment, the music seemed to fade into the background.

Nobody outside a very small circle should have known there was more to that breakup than what I'd told the public.

I read the post again.

Then I looked up.

Across the room, Camille Laurent was laughing at something her friend had said.

She had no idea who I was beyond an arrogant idiot with an expensive watch.

And I had no idea why the sudden appearance of her name in my thoughts felt so inconvenient.

My phone vibrated again.

Another notification.

THE STERLING CONFESSIONS: FOLLOW-UP COMING SOON.

I stared at the screen.

Someone had decided to drag my past into the light.

And whoever it was had made one very serious mistake.

They had assumed I would sit quietly and let them tell my story for me.

They were about to learn otherwise.

End of Chapter One.