𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 [james beaufort]

ii. i saw you dancing in a crowded room

james' pov:

i spotted her the second she stepped out of the car. aria caldwell, in a black dress that hugged her body like a second skin, looking completely out of place but somehow owning every second of it. the whispers started the moment she set foot on maxton hall's pavement, and i couldn't help but smirk. she was the kind of girl who made an entrance, whether she meant to or not.

i didn't understand her. i never had. aria was supposed to be the untouchable good girl, always keeping her distance from all of this. but here she was, walking straight into cyril's party like she belonged—like she wasn't better than the rest of us.

not that she wasn't beautiful. she was. everyone knew that. but aria always carried herself like she was above the noise, the drinks, the scandals. untouchable. ice queen. not tonight, though. tonight, she looked different—less controlled, more daring. maybe she was finally breaking under the pressure.

"you watching aria?" alistair leaned against the wall beside me, his gaze following mine. "never thought i'd see her here."

"yeah, well, maybe she's finally realized she's one of us." i said, not taking my eyes off her.

"one of us?" alistair chuckled. "she's not like us, james. don't fool yourself."

he wasn't wrong. aria caldwell came from money, sure, but she had this annoying sense of responsibility that made her stand out. she wasn't here for the parties, the games, or the drama. she kept herself in check, followed the rules. or at least, she used to.

tonight, though, she was a walking contradiction. the girl who didn't belong at these parties was now standing in the middle of one, head held high. i watched her as she exchanged a few words with lydia, the two of them looking like they ran the place. which, in a way, they did.

"think she'll actually stay?" alistair asked.

i shrugged, but deep down, i was curious too. what the hell was she doing here? what had changed?

aria turned her head, and our eyes met. for a split second, neither of us looked away. her expression didn't shift—no surprise, no discomfort, nothing. just cold indifference.

that's what pissed me off the most about her. she always looked at me like i was nothing special, like she was immune to all the shit that came with being at maxton hall. we were supposed to be equals in this game, but she treated me like i was beneath her.

and i hated that. which made me hate her.

"so, you gonna talk to her?" alistair nudged me, his grin widening.

"no." i said, looking away. "not tonight."

tonight wasn't the night to figure her out.

i forced myself to look away from her, but it wasn't easy. something about her presence—how she managed to take up so much space without even trying—grated on me. it was like she was daring everyone to question why she was here. like she was daring me.

i hated that she had that kind of effect on me, made me second-guess everything. i wasn't supposed to care. aria caldwell was the last person i wanted to think about, let alone watch. but tonight, something was different.

she moved through the party like it was nothing, like the whispers didn't matter. and maybe to her, they didn't. maybe she was just that good at pretending. or maybe she was finally tired of being perfect little aria.

i leaned against the wall, arms crossed, trying to shake the irritation bubbling inside me. what was it about her that crawled under my skin? the way she carried herself like she was above it all? the way she barely acknowledged my existence? or maybe it was the fact that, deep down, i knew she didn't belong here—she was too good for this world, too good for me.