FREYA SINCLAIR
I stood near one of the marble pillars, pretending to be fascinated by the swirl of gold in my untouched drink. My feet hurt, my back was stiff, and every smile I’d worn tonight felt borrowed. The room buzzed money, power, perfume none of it mine. I felt as if I didn't belong here.
That’s when they came.
Three women, perfectly dressed, perfectly polished, circling me like they’d rehearsed it. Diamonds at their throats, practiced warmth on their faces.
“Oh, you must be Freya,” one of them said, her smile wide, eyes sharp.
“Rowan’s… girlfriend, right?” one of them said. She had worn a wine coloured gown with a diamond necklace to match with it.
“Yes,” I replied, matching her smile. Fake. “That’s me.”
Another woman tilted her head, studying me openly. “You look very… s
