|Serena's POV|
The bar is dim and humming with low chatter, the kind of place people come to forget who they are or remember who they used to be, tucked between two shuttered galleries downtown, like a secret that doesn't care to be kept. I sit at the far end, alone, with the sharp sting of expensive tequila curling down my throat like a slow-burning truth, my elbows resting on the cool mahogany counter, and my gaze locked on the flickering amber of the votive candle in front of me. I came here to disappear—not forever, just for the night—and I've done a damn good job of it so far.
I don't wear my usual mask of celebrity tonight. No flawless skin painted on by a professional, no lashes so heavy they feel like lies, no glossed lips meant to seduce or perform. Just me. My hair is tied in
