As both Alicia and Alex lay sprawled on the floor—like defeated soldiers—Alicia, cheeks flushed with a deep crimson, peeked up from beneath the stray strands of her snow-white hair.
Her usual haughty composure had vanished, replaced by an uncharacteristically vulnerable expression.
Her breathing was slightly uneven, her chest rising and falling, as if struggling to summon the courage for what came next.
With surprising intensity in her usually cool gaze, she blurted out,
"Alex… will you go to the ball with me?"
Alex blinked.
Once.
Twice.
His brain, normally the realm of lightning-fast sarcasm and backup plans, froze like a corrupted loading screen.
'Wait, what? Did she just…?'
Her gaze didn't waver. Her face was redder than a maxed-out heat gauge, but she was completely serious.
That's when the shockwave hit.
'Oh crap.'
Alex's breath caught as he suddenly remembered a very important, very expensive fact.
The golden-haired girl.
The deal.
Thirty-five million credits.
