The graduation party was too loud.
Ethan Cole stood at the edge of the rooftop, watching his classmates scream, laugh, and drunkenly toast to a future they hadn't planned for. The city lights stretched behind them like a blanket of blurred neon, and the rooftop railing was wrapped in string lights someone had lazily duct-taped earlier that afternoon.
He sipped soda from a red plastic cup. Alone.
"Yo, Cole," a familiar voice called out. "Still acting like you're too smart for parties?"
Logan Reed, his only real friend, stumbled toward him with a grin and the usual buzz of half a dozen beers behind his breath. "Come on, man, you survived high school. That deserves at least one stupid decision."
"I'd rather not start now," Ethan replied dryly.
"Boring." Logan clinked his cup against Ethan's anyway. "Okay then. Let's make a game out of it. One dare. One moment of chaos before we're officially college zombies."
Ethan raised a brow. "I don't do dares."
"You will," Logan smirked, then raised his voice to the group. "Yo! Everyone! We've got a genius here who's too chicken for a dare."
A few cheers went up. People turned. Eyes found Ethan like sharks scenting blood.
"Logan—" Ethan warned.
"Relax. It's harmless." Logan stepped up on one of the low benches. "We're all here to close a chapter, right? So I dare Ethan Cole—yes, the valedictorian, our future overlord to go up to her," he pointed toward the far edge of the rooftop, "and propose."
Ethan followed the gesture and froze.
Isabella Wynn.
She stood apart from everyone, as always. Long black hair tucked behind one ear, an untouched drink in hand, a midnight-blue dress like something out of a fashion magazine. Her gaze was cool, unreadable. No one approached her. No one dared.
The Queen of Ice.
Rumors surrounded her like perfume. She once shut down a senior's confession with a glance. She allegedly got a substitute teacher fired with a single email. Her father ran one of the biggest tech firms in the country.
"Pass," Ethan said flatly.
"Scared?" Logan teased.
Ethan's jaw ticked. "It's not worth the drama."
"Exactly why it is." Logan held out his phone. "We livestream it, keep it short, and then you both laugh it off. Harmless. Come on, man. When else are you gonna get to say you proposed to Isabella Wynn?"
The crowd had formed a loose circle now. Phones were out. Whispers filled the air.
Ethan sighed.
This is stupid.
This is reckless.
This is… fine.
He stepped forward.
Each step toward Isabella felt like walking toward a cliff in full daylight. He stopped a respectful few feet away.
She turned to him—expression blank, like she'd been expecting him.
"Miss Wynn," he said, tone calm. "I've been dared to make a complete fool of myself."
"Oh?" she replied coolly.
"Apparently, I'm supposed to propose." His lips curled slightly. "Publicly. For fun. No pressure."
The rooftop went quiet. The air stilled.
Then Isabella blinked slowly and said:
"Very well."
Ethan frowned. "Wait, what?"
She stepped closer.
"I accept your proposal," she said—perfectly serious. "Let's inform our parents in the morning."
A few people laughed. Then paused. Because she wasn't laughing.
Isabella leaned in slightly and whispered, "I've waited long enough, Ethan. Thank you for finally saying it."
And just like that, she turned and walked away—her heels clicking softly on the concrete as the rooftop remained stunned silent behind her.
Ethan stood frozen.
Logan choked on his drink. "...What the hell just happened?"
Ethan Cole didn't know.
But somehow, this wasn't just a joke anymore.