Page 6 of Salem’s Rise

The muscular blond one walks slightly ahead of the others. He’s handsome in an effortless, old-money way, wearing a navy blazer over an open-collared white shirt and tailored trousers. His hair falls carelessly across his forehead, and he greets people as he passes with an easy smile and familiar nod, like he already knows everyone, and everyone is grateful for the acknowledgment. There’s something instantly likable about him.

The second guy couldn’t be more different. Equally good-looking, but everything about him is sharp. Sharp cheekbones. Sharp jaw. Sharp gray eyes that seem to notice everything and forgive nothing. His crimson Fair Isle wool sweater and pressed slacks are immaculate, not a crease in sight. He walks with quiet confidence and makes eye contact with no one, as if the entire room is beneath him.

Then the last guy steps fully into view, and I almost drop the tray in my hand.

He is taller than the other two and dressed entirely in black, from the fitted cardigan pushed neatly to his forearms to the expensive loafers that make no sound against the stone floor. His hair is nearly as dark as his clothes, falling just slightly across his forehead before sweeping back in a way that looks careless but probably isn’t. Everything about this man feels controlled. Cold. Precise.

Like the others, he is also beautiful, but in the most unnerving way imaginable, as if he just stepped in from another world. Not handsome in the safe, smiling way the blond one is. Not aristocratic, polished, as-if-made-from-stone like the other one. No, this is something darker. His is the kind of beauty that makes you look twice before your instincts catch up and warn you that some things are only beautiful because they’re meant to lure you closer before they strike.

Every nerve in my body goes taut as our eyes meet across the room, some primitive part of my brain recognizing danger before I can explain why. His eyes have me paralyzed. Even from this distance, they’re startling—not because they’re bright, but because they’re not. So dark, they seem almost depthless beneath thick black lashes, giving nothing away. There’s no warmth in them. No softness. They look like the eyes of someone who has already decided the world is disappointing and refuses to be surprised by it.

For a moment, I forget everything.

I forget my mother, and Josh, and why I’m here in Salem’s Fall in the first place. I’m pretty sure I even forget my own name.

I didn’t know people could look like that. Real people, I mean.

Hell, maybe he’s not real.

He gives me a cool, measuring glance that makes me feel as if I’ve been weighed, assessed, and dismissed all in the span of a heartbeat, before finally looking away. He follows the other two guys to a table nearby, and they take their seats. Heat rises to my cheeks, and I immediately hate myself for my reaction to him.

What the hell is wrong with me? I’m acting like I’ve never seen a hot guy before.

“Why was he looking at you like that?” Nicole, the blonde, asks me with narrowed eyes. “Do you know them?”

“Who?” I ask.

“The Heirs.” She snorts, clearly annoyed by my ignorance. “You know—Rowan Ashcroft, Van Hawthorne. And Silas Blackhollow, of course.”

The last name lands with more weight than I expect.

Blackhollow.

You don’t grow up anywhere near New England without hearing it. The Blackhollow family’s legacy stretches back generations. Their multibillion-dollar empire, Blackhollow Industries, has made them one of those old-money dynasties that seem to exist above ordinary people and never follow the rules everyone else does.

Billionaire Damien Blackhollow is at the head of the company these days, despite being accused of murdering his fiancée. It happened a long time ago, but everyone knows the story. It made national news. Some sort of rumored ritual cult sacrifice. His lawyer got him off, but the rumors of his guilt never fully went away. There were other strange deaths throughout the years, too, all tied to the family in one way or another.

Of course, when Josh was offered the Blackhollow Foundation Fellowship last year, neither of us thought twice about that disturbing history. We were too busy celebrating.

Josh had mentioned Silas, Damien’s son. He said Silas was brilliant but impossible to read, the kind of guy everyone around campus worshipped. Half the time he’d complain that Silas was the coldest asshole he’d ever met. The other half he’d tell me about afternoons they’d spent buried in the university archives, chasing some obscure piece of New England history. As difficult as Silas could apparently be, Josh always talked about him like they were friends.

After the police stopped returning my calls, I’d reached out to everyone Josh had ever mentioned. Professors. Administrators. Students. Silas was one of the first people I contacted, but he never answered my emails. Eventually, I accepted he was either unwilling to help me or hiding behind the same wall of silence as everyone else in Salem’s Fall. Now he’s sitting less than twenty feet away from me.

“I’d kill for him to look at me just once,” Grace says, watching Silas over the rim of her sparkling water bottle. “I’d marry Silas tomorrow. I’d even sign a prenup. No questions asked.”

“You and half the women on campus.” Nicole snorts. “He’s gorgeous, sure, but he’s a cold-hearted bastard. I prefer Rowan. At least he’d probably call you the next day.”

“Boring.” Grace waves a dismissive hand. “I don’t want emotionally available. I want someone who will absolutely ruin me in bed.”

“You’re such a little slut.” Nicole giggles into her drink. “A slut with terrible taste.”

“Excuse you. I think you mean elite taste.”

They erupt into laughter again, and I take a sip of water. I’m taken aback by the sheer intensity of their infatuation with these men. It’s like three attractive guys walk into a room and suddenly everyone forgets how to breathe.

“I don’t get it,” I say. “They’re good-looking, sure, but so what? What’s so special about them?”

“Are you serious?” Nicole looks at me like I’ve grown two heads. “Besides the obvious hotness, they’re also brilliant. And richer than God. More powerful too, probably.” She giggles. “Their families practically own Salem’s Fall and the university,” she explains. “What else do you need to fall in love?”