Chapter 2

Seraphina

The Alpha Phi house buzzes with energy as college students mingle, laughter filling the air. The living room, adorned with pastel streamers and twinkling fairy lights, pulses with chatter and music. A cocktail bar sits in the corner, girls in flowing dresses and heels sipping brightly colored drinks. The aroma of hors d'oeuvres and light bites drifts from the kitchen, but it’s the buzz of anticipation for rush week that truly lingers. I stand back, watching the girls flock to one another, cliques already forming in groups of familiar faces. Some gossip about campus events, while others excitedly discuss their plans for the upcoming week.

Angie hardly lets me go, pulling me around the house to introduce me to everyone. "This is Seri, our new star from the Alumni Scholarship," she proudly announces to a group of giggling sophomores, their eyes widening with interest. They nod, impressed. I feel the weight of their expectations, but I plaster on a polite smile, hoping they won’t read too much into my quiet demeanor. Angie leads me next to Rachel, the head of Alpha Phi, who stands near a velvet-covered lounge chair, talking to a few members.

"Seri, meet Rachel. She makes the magic happen around here," Angie says with more reverence than usual. Rachel extends a hand with an air of leadership. "Welcome to the house, Seri. We're so excited to have you here for rush week. I’m sure you’ll fit in perfectly." Her words are polished, but there’s a steely edge to her gaze—she’s sizing me up, just like the rest of them. "Rush week is our big event," Rachel continues, turning slightly to face Angie. "We’ve got to make sure we have the right girls this year—ambitious, driven, with a good head on their shoulders. The future of this house depends on it." I nod, mentally preparing for the upcoming challenges. This isn’t just a party—it’s a game, and everyone is playing for a stake in something bigger.

The party is in full swing when the doors swing open with sudden force. The room goes silent for a moment, like the air has been sucked out. I freeze, my eyes drawn to the door as a group of men—tall, imposing, with an air of confidence that could only come from being born into power—walk in. They don’t just enter; they own the room.

At the forefront are three men, and even in a crowd of over a hundred, they stand out, the three unofficial kings of campus. Marius, Damon, and Tyrone. Leaders of Sigma Phi, the most notorious fraternity on campus. They aren’t just frat boys—they’re heirs to some of the most influential mafia families in New York. Everyone knows it, and they make no attempt to hide it.

Marius, in a perfectly tailored suit, his dark brown hair combed neatly to the side, catches my gaze for a brief moment. His piercing blue eyes lock on mine, and I feel the weight of his attention. The leader—cold, calculating, and always a step ahead. He never needs to raise his voice to get what he wants. Even in the dim lighting, I catch a glimpse of the scar near his temple, a sharp contrast against his otherwise flawless skin. His suit fits him like a second skin, the crisp lines emphasizing the lean, controlled power beneath. A hint of ink peeks from the collar of his shirt—a tattoo, though I'll probably never get close enough to see the design. Knowing Marius, it isn’t just for show; it means something.

Next to him is Damon, all dark, almost dangerous good looks. He has a presence that makes people step aside when he enters the room. His stormy gray eyes hold an unreadable glint, mischief layered over something more unpredictable. A black leather jacket hangs effortlessly off his broad shoulders, too casual for the setting but suiting him perfectly—rebellion wrapped in luxury. Unlike Marius, who is polished to perfection, Damon embraces the chaos in his tousled dark hair and the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw. The silver glint of a lip ring catches the light when he smirks, and I have no doubt there are more piercings hidden beneath his clothes. A tattoo curls around his wrist, vanishing under his sleeve, its dark lines teasing at stories he’ll never tell.

Then there’s Tyrone, the quietest of them all, with a reputation for breaking things—both figuratively and literally. His wavy brown hair and easy smile make him seem more approachable, but I know better. Tyrone is the one who makes sure you never get a second chance. His olive-toned skin contrasts sharply with the dark ink trailing along his forearm—something intricate, possibly a family crest, though I’m not foolish enough to ask. He carries himself differently than the others, heavier, more deliberate, like a man who has already calculated the outcome of every move before he makes it. His dark brown eyes give nothing away, but I feel their weight just the same.

They aren’t just here to make a statement—they’re here to take over.

As if on cue, Damon raises a hand, and the room instantly falls into a hush.

They move through the crowd like predators, eyes scanning the room like a chessboard.

Marius is the first to speak, his voice smooth and cold, as if commenting on the weather rather than the glaring lack of style. “This place looks like the set of a high-school prom gone horribly wrong. You’d think Alpha Phi would know how to throw a decent party, but I guess taste isn’t a requirement for joining.”

Laughter follows—sharp, full of superiority. A couple of Alpha Phi girls exchange quick, nervous glances, but Marius doesn’t pause. His blue eyes dart around, inspecting every inch of the room, before landing on the punch bowl.

“Hmm,” he continues, his tone dripping with disdain, “Is this your idea of a signature drink? A cocktail that looks like it belongs in a retirement home?” His smirk grows when he sees one girl, her face flushing red, toss back the rest of her drink, likely trying to prove she isn’t bothered.

Damon steps forward, leaning casually against a pillar. “I can’t decide if this place is trying to be classy or just… desperate. You know, there’s something about girls who wear enough makeup to make a clown nervous that just screams ‘I don’t need real friends to have fun.’” He says it loud enough for a few of the girls to hear, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. One of the more popular girls, a blonde with an almost-too-perfect smile, shoots him a venomous glare.

“Take a seat, sweetheart,” Damon chuckles, unfazed. “Not everyone is cut out for this level of exclusivity. You’ll need more than a discount on lip gloss to get the kind of attention you want.”

Tyrone, quieter but no less lethal, looks around at the decorations with a half-smile. “And these?” He gestures toward the extravagant streamers and floral arrangements. “Is this some sort of… botanical horror show? Looks like they’re trying to make this place look ‘elegant,’ but all I see are paper flowers and a desperate attempt to distract from the lack of real class.”

The room thickens with tension as eyes dart between one another. Sigma Phi isn’t just a fraternity—it’s a symbol of power, wealth, and danger. No one is foolish enough to turn down an invitation from them, even if it means crossing a line.

Angie grabs my arm, her voice urgent. “You have to go. Trust me, you have to go. This is how you get in with the right crowd.” Her eyes sparkle with excitement, but there’s something else—fear.

I want to protest, but the buzz of the crowd, the whispers of excitement and curiosity, drown out my hesitation. Sigma Phi’s reputation is everything. And as the last of the Alpha Phi party members reluctantly begin moving toward the exit, I know one thing for sure: tonight is going to change everything.