Chapter 4The Spoiled Heiress Redemption Path

Hudson and I had known each other since we were kids—social circles that small tend to overlap—but we were never "friends." Not really.

The shift happened our senior year of high school.

Our school’s Winter Gala was coming up. There was this girl, Sienna, who lived to compete with me. Whatever I wore, she tried to outshine. Whoever I liked, she tried to flirt with. The Gala was our annual battlefield.

I needed a date who would end the conversation before it started.

I cornered Hudson after his AP Calc class.

"Hudson," I said, cutting straight to the chase. "You’re taking me to the Gala."

"Me?" He looked genuinely baffled. "Why?"

"Simple logic," I said, leaning against the lockers. "I’m the most beautiful girl in this school, and you’re the most handsome guy. It’s basically a law of nature that we go together."

Hudson stared at me for a long beat, his expression unreadable. "I don’t dance, Sloane."

I ignored the rejection. "Then you better start practicing."

He looked at me, really looked at me, and then a small, almost imperceptible shadow of a smile touched his lips. "Fine."

"Great," I said, but then I remembered the stakes. "Also, if Sienna asks you—and she will—you have to turn her down instantly. And tell her it’s because you’ve already secured the most stunning date in the building."

"I can't do that," he said.

"Why not?!"

"Because I already turned her down yesterday. I doubt she’ll ask again."

I blinked. "She already asked you?"

He nodded.

"Good. Excellent taste," I said, giving him a literal thumbs-up.

I thought I had it in the bag. But our first rehearsal for the waltz was a disaster. Hudson was stiff, his movements were mechanical, and he stepped on my custom-made heels twice.

"You’re a straight-A student, Hudson! How are you this bad at counting to three?"

"I’m sorry. I’ll buy you new shoes," he said quietly. "I just need more practice."

By the second rehearsal, he stopped crushing my toes, but he was still a statue.

"Hudson, we’re supposed to own the room! If you don't loosen up, I’m finding a new partner."

"I’ll get it right next time," he promised.

And he did. By the third rehearsal, he moved with a fluid, quiet grace that actually made me forget to yell at him.

"Wow," I whispered as we finished a turn. "You're actually good."

"So are you," he replied.

I didn't argue. "Obviously."

But three days before the Gala, I was rushing down the grand staircase at home, missed a step, and heard a sickening pop.