Ellie:
By the time I get home, the silence in the manor feels deafening. The kind that settles heavy in the air, suffocating under the weight of its own emptiness. The gala perfume still clings to my skin — champagne, roses, and resentment.
I unhook the diamond choker from my throat and set it on the vanity. It lands with a soft click, like a gavel. Guilty as charged — of pride, of fury, of letting him under my skin.
Reign Sinclair. The name tastes like sin and cigarette smoke.
My gown slides down my body in a whisper of silk, pooling around my heels like a bloodstain. I step out of it, half-drunk on adrenaline, half-poisoned by irritation. The mirror catches me — perfect hair, flawless makeup, a face sculpted for composure — and I almost laugh.
Perfect. Always perfect.
I reach for m
