The party was a goddamn cyclone of bass and blinding neon, and I was in the thick of it, trying to drown out the lingering sting of Asher’s betrayal. I was wearing that little black dress—the one that clung to every curve, with a cheeky slit up the side that showed just enough skin to remind me I was still damn irresistible. My hair was tousled perfectly, a wild cascade of curls that caught the flashing lights and made me look like a dangerous goddess on the prowl. I could practically see the envious stares as I swaggered through the crowd, every step a middle finger to the memory of him.
Demi had been on a mission all night. “Let’s get you f****d up so you forget that sorry bastard,” she’d slurred, practically yanking me into the mayhem. The first round hit us like a freight train: I dow
