The hotel hosting Miles and Christy's engagement party was the kind of place that pretended old money had built it. Marble floors veined like lightning, chandeliers dripping with crystal, gold trim on every archway. Everything shone—too bright, too polished—like the kind of illusion that needed to blind people to stay alive.
Willow stepped through the revolving doors and felt the temperature shift instantly. Warm lighting, soft strings from a live quartet, the smell of champagne and orchids—and something faintly metallic beneath it all. The lobby was already full of guests dressed in blacks and silvers and deep jewel tones, forming clusters that hummed with polite laughter.
