Chapter Fifty One
The garden was alive with laughter and music, but the longer I stood there, the more it felt like the walls were closing in. More and more people arrived, their faces blurring together in a sea of smiles and chatter. Too much, I thought, clutching the empty champagne flute in my hand. I needed a moment, just a second to breathe. I turned and slipped back into the house, heading toward the kitchen for another glass. But then I heard it. A voice that sent a chill down my spine. Poppy. “Happy birthday, Mauve,” her posse chimed in unison, their saccharine smiles dripping with malice. Poppy stepped forward, her glossy lips curling into something that was supposed to resemble warmth but only felt like a threat. She pulled me into a hug, her perfume suffocating, her voice a venomous whisper in
- Writer
