ELARA’S POV
“I believe it’s not a crime to be a substitute if someone refuses a dare.”
Camilla’s voice slid across the table before her perfume did—thick, expensive, suffocating. She moved toward us with deliberate grace, each click of her heels striking the marble like a countdown. The chandelier light clung to her black dress, the belt cinched perfectly at her waist, her red lipstick sharp enough to cut glass. I hated that I noticed how stunning she looked. I hated even more that she knew it.
She stopped beside Ian and lowered herself into the empty chair as if she had always belonged there.
“Oh my God… you’re alive,” she breathed, pressing a hand dramatically against her chest as she looked at me. “You have no idea what the news of your death did to me. I mourned you for months.”
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