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Episode 3: Webs of Intrigue
The after-party of Riverside High's Prom Night glittered like a dream dipped in starlight. The mansion chosen for the celebration shimmered with fairy lights that cascaded from the ceilings like streams of gold. Laughter mingled with the hum of soft jazz, perfume, and the fizz of champagne. Students floated through the grand halls in silk gowns and fitted tuxedos, their excitement barely contained beneath the practiced poise of the evening.
And in the center of it all was Layla Wellington—the girl who made perfection look effortless.
Her silver gown hugged her curves, every thread glinting beneath the chandeliers. Her hair, braided and twisted into intricate coils, caught the light when she turned her head. On the surface, she seemed calm, poised, radiant. But beneath that controlled grace, her mind was a whirlpool.
Ethan Marshall. Tiffany Larson. Prom King and Queen.
Whispers. Secrets. Rumors.
Across the ballroom, Ethan stood at the base of the grand staircase, tall and effortlessly confident, his tuxedo a perfect frame for his athletic build. Even with a glass of water in his hand—no champagne, no pretense—he commanded attention. His eyes, a striking shade of blue, scanned the crowd, but every few moments, they found Layla. And each time they did, his composure slipped—just slightly.
Tiffany Larson was not far. In a scarlet dress that shimmered like temptation itself, she watched them both from a distance. Tiffany was a master of subtle power plays; she didn't speak often, but when she did, her words lingered like perfume—pleasant at first, dangerous later. Once Ethan's lab partner, now his quiet rival in more ways than one, she never forgot how to use silence as a weapon.
When Layla moved toward the refreshment table, Tiffany glided into her path, smile painted and precise.
"Congratulations," Tiffany said, her voice sweet with undertones of something sharper. "You really pulled off tonight. Ethan seems… impressed."
Layla returned the smile, polite and unreadable. "Thank you. It's been a success so far."
Tiffany tilted her head, the light glinting in her red earrings. "Just make sure it stays that way. Ethan's a great guy, but…"—her smile deepened, almost pitying—"he has a complicated history. Thought you should know."
Layla's pulse skipped, but she didn't flinch. "I appreciate the concern," she replied evenly. "Ethan and I communicate. That's all that matters."
For a second, Tiffany's expression faltered—then the mask returned. "Of course," she said lightly, and drifted away into the crowd, leaving behind a faint trace of tension that clung to Layla like invisible perfume.
Moments later, Ethan appeared beside her, as though drawn by instinct. "Everything okay?" he asked quietly. His voice carried that low steadiness that always made her feel seen.
Layla hesitated. "Just the usual Prom drama. Everyone's watching, talking…" She sighed softly. "It's strange—how fast rumors start."
Ethan smiled faintly. "Let them talk. They'll get bored." He paused, his gaze softening. "You look beautiful tonight, by the way."
Her heart stuttered. "You already said that."
"I'll keep saying it," he murmured, his fingers brushing hers—subtle, quick, electric.
By the time the slow music started, they were in the garden, bathed in moonlight. The air smelled faintly of roses and rain. Ethan's hand rested lightly on the small of her back as they swayed, and for a fleeting moment, everything felt right—simple, even. Layla's head rested against his chest, and she wondered if maybe, just maybe, the world could quiet down long enough for this to last.
But it never did.
Later, they sat on the stone terrace, overlooking the glittering city. Layla's silver heels dangled from her fingers as she spoke quietly. "Tiffany warned me tonight. About your past."
Ethan's jaw tightened. "What did she say?"
"Nothing specific. Just… complications."
He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. "She likes to play games. Don't let her get in your head."
Layla turned toward him, searching his face. "Should I be worried?"
He met her gaze. "No," he said simply. "Whatever happened before doesn't touch what's happening now."
She wanted to believe him. And maybe she did. But the quiet hum of uncertainty still lingered beneath her ribs.
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The next morning, Riverside High buzzed with post-Prom gossip. Photos flooded social media—Layla and Ethan dancing under the fairy lights, Tiffany's cryptic captions, comments speculating about triangles that didn't exist.
Madeline, Layla's best friend, slid into the seat beside her at the Arts Council meeting. "You might want to check Tiffany's latest post," she whispered. "Something about 'Prom alliances' and 'silver masks.' Subtle much?"
Layla forced a laugh. "Let her enjoy her fifteen minutes."
But when she glanced down at her phone later, her screen flashed a new message—from an unknown number.
Unknown: Be careful who you trust. Not all that glitters beside you is gold.
Her stomach twisted.
Meanwhile, Ethan faced his own whispers at the alumni networking event that afternoon. "You and Layla," a former teammate teased. "That real, or just Prom magic?"
Ethan kept his tone measured. "It's real. But people love their stories."
Still, when he checked his email later, one subject line froze him:
Anonymous: Old ties resurface when least expected. Manage wisely.
By the time he texted Layla—Can we meet? Café Nova? Need to talk.—the game had already begun.
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At Café Nova, surrounded by the clatter of mugs and low music, Layla leaned forward, her expression calm but her eyes alert.
"Rumors might start," Ethan said quietly. "About me. About… the past. I just want you to hear it from me first."
Layla studied him for a long moment. "What kind of past are we talking about?"
He hesitated. "Old friendships. Someone who didn't handle things well when it ended. It's not what people will make it sound like."
She nodded slowly, her mind a tangle of trust and doubt. "Then I'll judge you by what I see now. Not by whispers."
He smiled faintly, relief flickering behind his eyes. But before the calm could settle, Layla's phone buzzed again—Madeline's text.
Madeline: Breaking—Tiffany just tweeted: "Secrets always spill after the crown."
Layla met Ethan's gaze. The same thought passed between them without words.
This wasn't over.
That night, as Layla hung her silver gown neatly in her closet, the weight of the evening still lingered. She stood by her window, watching the lights of Riverside flicker in the distance, and whispered softly to herself—
"Prom Night was just the beginning."
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