Sheila’s POV
The champagne flute in my hand felt like a lead weight. All around me, the party buzzed—a low, happy hum of chatter and clinking glasses and that damn string quartet. I usually loved these things. The noise, the gossip, the way you could just disappear into the crowd. But tonight, every laugh felt too loud, every smile felt fake. My skin was crawling.
I stood by the grand window, staring out at the dark gardens, but I wasn’t seeing anything. My mind was back in that hallway, watching Damon carry her out in his arms.
I felt someone sidle up next to me before I heard him. It was Dave, of course. It was always Dave.
“She’ll be fine, you know,” he said, his voice too cheerful. He bumped my shoulder with his, a clumsy attempt at comfort.
I didn’t look at him. “You think she'
