Chapter 1The Red Flag Party

Right before Thanksgiving break, our quiet, ultra-wealthy, and notoriously aloof classmate, Seraphina, suddenly popped up in the class group chat:

"My parents are out of the country, and the mansion is completely empty. Why don't you all come over tonight and hang out?"

She had arranged everything: a chartered party bus, cocktail dresses, and even a professional photographer.

The group chat went absolutely feral. Everyone was thrilled, furiously RSVPing.

I was the only one staring at the "rules of the game" she sent, a cold shiver slowly crawling up my spine.

[24-Hour Offline Challenge]:

All phones must be surrendered upon arrival.

Everyone must sleep over.

All cocktails will be mixed on-site.

The more I thought about it, the worse it felt. I immediately submitted an early departure request for my study abroad program and booked an overnight flight out of the country.

As soon as my plane touched down, I took my phone off airplane mode.

Eighty-seven missed calls and hundreds of iMessages flooded my screen simultaneously.

The very last message from my roommate was:

"You didn't come. You literally saved your own life."

When the police called to explain what had happened, I broke out in a cold sweat.

I knew it. There's no such thing as a free lunch.

* * *

Seraphina Sterling was practically a myth in our college.

She was stunningly beautiful, and her family's wealth seemed borderline absurd.

While the rest of us were dragging ourselves to 8:00 AM classes with dark circles under our eyes, clutching cheap bagels...

She would step out of a black Escalade, her driver holding an umbrella over her head.

While we budgeted every penny for our art supplies...

She would casually buy a box of imported, top-tier oil paints, use two tubes, and abandon the rest in the studio.

Her Instagram feed showcased a life entirely alien to ours.

Skiing in the Swiss Alps.

Gallery openings in London.

Oceanfront estates.

Exclusive private galas.

She rarely spoke to anyone in our major, and she almost never attended our class dinners or get-togethers.

So, on the Tuesday night right before Thanksgiving break, when she suddenly messaged the class group chat:

"Thanksgiving break is so boring, and my parents are in Europe."

"Oh, by the way, my house is empty. Why don't you guys come over tonight and hang out?"

The group chat was dead silent for about ten seconds.

And then it absolutely exploded.

My roommate, Harper, sent a string of exclamation points.

"Are you serious?! Spend Thanksgiving break at your mansion? Can we take pictures?!"

Seraphina replied instantly:

"Of course I'm serious."

"Do you guys want to take pictures? I'll just hire a professional photographer then."

"It'll be perfect for a pre-graduation group photoshoot."

My other roommate, Chloe, screamed from across our dorm room.

"Mia! Did you see the group chat? Seraphina actually invited us to her house!"

"And she's hiring a photographer!"

I sat at my desk, looking at the photos Seraphina had just sent.

A massive, detached estate.

A sweeping white spiral staircase.

An outdoor infinity pool.

A two-story vaulted living room with a chandelier that looked straight out of a movie.

It was undeniably gorgeous.

But I didn't feel an ounce of excitement.

I only felt deeply unsettled.

Someone who hadn't made a genuine effort to connect with us for two and a half years...

Suddenly inviting over a dozen classmates to her mansion for an all-nighter right before the holidays?

Chartering a bus, providing dresses, and hiring a photographer?

I kept reading.

Seraphina sent another message:

"Just hanging out is kind of boring, though."

"Why don't we do a 24-Hour Offline Challenge? It's super trendy in Europe right now."

"When you get here, we'll all put our phones in a lockbox."

"Oh, and everyone has to sleep over. I'll have my driver take everyone back to campus tomorrow afternoon."

"And listen, my dad's wine cellar is fully stocked, so don't bring anything. We're drinking my dad's stash tonight."

My fingertip hovered over the screen.

Phones. Sleepover. Mixed drinks.

Seeing those three things strung together triggered a massive, blaring alarm in my head.

Chloe was already tearing through her closet.

"Which dress should I wear?"

"Wait, Seraphina said she's providing dresses. So I just need to do my base makeup, right?"

Harper was in the group chat asking for dress sizes.

My other roommate, Avery, asked hesitantly in the chat:

"Do we absolutely have to sleep over? My parents might ask where I am."

Seraphina replied incredibly fast:

"I've already arranged everything. Besides, it's a rare chance to relax. Leaving early ruins the vibe."

People in the chat started teasing Avery:

"Don't be a buzzkill, Avery! The Ice Queen is finally inviting us mortals over. If you miss this, you'll regret it all year."

I stared at the sentence "Leaving early ruins the vibe," and a heavy, sinking feeling hit my stomach.

Chloe leaned over to look at my phone.

"Mia, why haven't you RSVP'd yet?"

I closed the group chat app.

"I'm not going."

She froze.

"Wait, what? Why not?"

"I have other plans. I can't make it."

"But it's Seraphina! This is the first time she's ever invited us anywhere! Aren't you dying to see her house?"

I had no concrete proof, only an overwhelming, primal instinct that something was wrong.

So, I went into the RSVP poll and selected "Not Attending."

Almost immediately, Seraphina sent me a direct message.

"Mia, you aren't coming?"

"Yeah."

"Do you have a conflict? If you're the only one who doesn't show up, our graduation photo will be incomplete."

"The study abroad program I'm doing requires me to report early."

That part was true.

I was originally scheduled to fly to London on the 4th for a semester exchange program. I had planned to go home and spend Thanksgiving with my mom for a couple of days first.

It took Seraphina half a minute to reply:

"Can't you just change your flight to a later date? Everyone else is coming, it'll look bad if you're the only one missing."

I stared at that sentence, my suspicions growing heavier.

In four years of college, I could count the number of times I had spoken to her on one hand.

Why did she suddenly care so much whether I was there or not?