Twenty Three—Nova
The car glided through North Wilmore’s glittering streets, sleek and silent, like it knew where it belonged among the polished black vehicles heading toward The Castellane Estates’ annual summer gala. The world outside the tinted glass shimmered — gowns sparkling beneath streetlamps, paparazzi lights flashing like lightning, city banners snapping in the soft summer breeze. And I sat in the backseat, trying to remind myself to breathe. “Stop fidgeting,” Adrian murmured from beside me, his voice calm but firm. I stilled, my fingers frozen mid-twist at the fabric of my dress. A blush rose to my cheeks. “I’m not fidgeting.” He gave me a sideways look — that dry, amused glance that always managed to make me feel like a child caught in a lie. “You’ve adjusted your dress four times since we l
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