Swan Year

Tristan Payback? 🤔

It had been a week since Iris Dawn's last humiliating stunt—a public debacle where she’d left Tristan Alore exposed, his confidence shaken. Tristan wasn’t one to shy away from conflict, but Iris was different. Her sharp wit, gothic grace, and air of untouchability made her a force he couldn’t ignore. Tonight, however, he planned to remind her that even a queen could bleed.

The college’s annual masquerade ball was alive with opulence: chandeliers dripping with crystals, the air buzzing with muted laughter, and the swirl of extravagant costumes. Tristan, dressed in a sharp black suit with crimson accents and a sleek silver mask, blended into the crowd. His warm blue eyes gleamed with mischief as he spotted Iris.

She wore a sleek black gown with intricate lace detailing, reminiscent of spider webs, paired with dark gloves and a mask adorned with black feathers. Her presence was magnetic, her pale complexion framed by a cascade of her short messy brown hair. She moved like a shadow, commanding attention even in her disdain for it.

"Care to dance, Dawn?" Tristan’s voice cut through the ambient noise as he approached her, hand extended.

Iris turned, arching an eyebrow. "Tristan," she drawled, her dark lips curling into a faint smirk. "Bold of you to approach the lioness. Are you hoping not to get bitten?"

"Sometimes," Tristan replied, leaning closer, "the lioness forgets the hunter knows her weaknesses."

Intrigued, and perhaps amused, Iris accepted his hand. As they glided to the center of the ballroom, the crowd faded into the periphery.

"Should I be flattered or concerned?" she asked, her tone edged with mockery.

"Both," Tristan said, spinning her with practiced ease. His voice dropped to a whisper. "You’re not as untouchable as you think."

She tilted her head, feigning disinterest. "Is that a threat?"

"No," he said, his lips curving into a smirk. "It’s a promise.Plus I wanted you to taste your own medicine."

Suddenly, the music stopped. A spotlight fell on them, and the crowd hushed. Iris tensed, though her expression remained cool.

"What are you playing at, Tristan?" she asked, her voice dangerously low.

Tristan stepped back, microphone in hand. "Ladies and gentlemen," he announced, his voice carrying through the grand hall, "allow me to introduce you to Iris Dawn—queen of cruelty, master of manipulation. But did you know even queens have skeletons in their closets?"

The audience murmured, heads turning toward Iris. Her icy gaze locked onto Tristan.

"Careful, Alore," she warned, her voice sharp as a dagger.

He ignored her. "You all know her as the gothic goddess who loves to toy with her prey. But did you know Iris Dawn has a side project? One that could ruin her carefully curated empire?"

Her eyes narrowed, though her posture remained poised. "Get to the point, Tristan," she said, her tone deceptively calm.

Tristan grinned, holding up his phone. "Iris here runs a little anonymous blog, one that spills secrets about the very people in this room. Every rumor, every scandal, every insecurity—it all comes from her."

The crowd gasped, whispers spreading like wildfire. Iris’s mask of indifference didn’t falter, but her knuckles tightened around her clutch.

"Is that so?" she asked, her voice as cold as winter frost. She stepped closer, her heels clicking against the marble floor. "Congratulations, Tristan or would I say uncultured bastard. You’ve managed to create a moment. But if you think you can expose me, think again."