“He said my last set was ‘mimicked copies of real work’ and ‘filled with emotional naivety.’” I mocked my advisor’s voice.

James and I had been eating lunch on the dry grass in the quad. The wind smelled like autumn was well on its way, making me dread my upcoming classes. I would have to enjoy the break before the stresses of university sabotaged my peace.

“Fuck ‘em. You’re a great photographer, baby.” James leaned over to peck my cheek while attempting to throw his empty paper bag in the recycling bin nearby. He missed, but a pledge from his fraternity caught it and put it in for him.

“Hey, James!” James saluted the underclassman. “Hey, James’ girlfriend!” I smiled in reply as he wandered away.

Snagging James’ jeans to get his attention, I continued, “I can’t ignore his critiques. He’s the Mr. Devon Hall.” My voice was whiny. “I’m supposed to be baking him cupcakes and licking the crumbs off his hairy chest or something. At least, that’s what Selyne told me last year.

He’s already called me into his office this week for more roasting.”

Over the last year, Mr. Hall often requested I visit his office hours, sighing with the heavy burden of having me as a mentee. I wasn’t great at art, but I tried my best. When I would bring that up, Mr. Hall suggested I visit his studio to watch him work. The way he sometimes looked at me had so far prevented my acceptance.

James was checking social media on his phone, hearting pictures with a blaze of his thumb. He murmured, “Ignore him; keep being yourself. You have talent.” He paused on a photo of his friend Mack Donaldson with his new boyfriend. James unliked the image.

Just don’t give a fuck was James’ philosophy. He could afford that privilege. After his undergraduate, he’d move to California, attend a fancy law school, and make partner at his father’s firm. He never had to worry about what he would do for money once he graduated.

I wasted time and my parents’ money on an art degree. My father insisted I go to college while he would cover my costs. Art was the only thing I could think of to study. Dad warned me I would never make any money, but he was still supportive when I chose the major. The closer I got to graduation, the more my stomach knotted. I had no plan for what to do after. Maybe I could get a job at a ritzy coffee shop and become independent before the age of thirty-five. Or sell nude photos online before I lost my body.

Rubbing the back of my neck, I glanced around the lawn at the groups of Northview University students lulling about in the sun. The buildings cast nebulous silhouettes on our side of the quad. I envisioned a series of architectural photos for next week’s project. While studying the prisms from a nearby stained glass, I was drawn to a tall, dark figure that emerged from the business building.

Xavier Cardell had model looks with sleek black hair perfectly tousled in a way that made it seem as if some girl had just run her fingers through it–which she probably had–and a body that screamed “gym bro.” Heir to Cardell Enterprises, the business that owned the majority of town and most everyone in it, he was untouchable. By the way he carried himself, he knew it.

Strolling up to James with a red envelope in his hand, the god himself approached with two leggy blondes by his side. Each woman grasped a muscular, tattooed bicep and appeared discontented, having to walk the same path as the peasants.

“James Stevenson.” Xavier’s sculpted body stood over my boyfriend, casting a shadow on our little picnic. His darkness caused such an eclipse that I wondered if anyone’s light could shine through the void.

James tried not to cough on his dill pickle and replied, “Uh, yeah. That’s me. Can I help you?” When he investigated the handsome face, James’ jaw fell open slightly. Xavier’s face held a chiseled jaw that looked like he was constantly sucking on something bitter. The blondes looked around for someone better to talk to.

“Yeah, I’ve seen you around.” Xavier dropped the red envelope in James’ hand. “Hope you can join us. Oh, and make sure to bring your girlfriend.”

Xavier nodded the top of his head toward me, and my skin tingled as if he had just shot a bolt of lightning in my direction. He slowly turned his icy blue eyes to stare at me intensely. I stopped breathing. As if he could tell the effect he had on my body, a corner of his lips lifted ever so slightly before he drifted away with his girls in tow.

I eyed James and the envelope, my heart beating again. He tore into it as I asked, “What is that?”

James pulled out a note of heavy cardstock. He read it carefully, held it out for me, and said in a hushed tone, “It’s a Red Night invite. You know, the party I told you about.” His eyes wide, he turned to watch Xavier sauntering away.

The party wasn’t just any party, and it wasn’t just any fraternity. It was “Red Night” at Theta Rho Zeta. TRZ was less of a college brotherhood and more like a secret rich boy underground club entrenched in debauchery. Apparently, if you wanted a wild sex party on the down low, Theta Rho was the place to go.