“I’m your only sister,” she says, quirking a brow. “Not much of an accolade. By the way, is that hot guy going to be there?”
“Hot guy?” Millie perks up with a smirk. “Oh, you kept that quiet, Vi.”
“You should have seen him,” Gracie sighs, fanning her face. “Oh my word, he was a walking orgasm.”
“Gracie May Harper,” I scold, suppressing a grin.
“Don’t keep me in suspense, then,” Millie says, her eyes flicking between us. “Who thefuckis he?”
“Just some Tinder date,” I say with a shrug, feigning disinterest. “We didn’t really have anything in common. To be honest, he was way out of my league, and he pretty much ghosted me after.” It’s not a total lie. It’s a pretty accurate representation of what’s happened since my kiss with Chase. I’ve seen him perhaps once or twice in passing, and it’s as if I never existed—exactly as I requested.
Praying my flushed cheeks don’t give me away, I snatch my clutch and clear my throat. “Oh, look,” I add, a little too brightly. “Seb and Ryan just pulled up.”
As I jog toward the Uber, Gracie calls after me, “Stop putting yourself down! No way is he out of your league. He’d be lucky to have you.”
“Best sister crown and all that,” I call back with a grin as the car rolls forward.
“Hey, Gracie!” Seb leans past me, sticking his head out the window. “I’ll be at your next game.”
Gracie’s face twists in horror. “Absolutely not, Seb! You’re banned for life!”
I laugh, waving. “Love you!” I watch her shrink into the distance as we speed away.
“Okay,” Seb says, rubbing his hands together in glee. “Time to get shitfaced on the company payroll.”
“Last time you said that,” I remind him, shooting him a look. “I ended up going home with one shoe on.”
“A real-life Cinderella,” Ryan quips, smirking.
“No, more like a real-life idiot,” Seb corrects with a grin, earning himself a slap on the back from Millie.
Millie peers out the window as we glide through the city, her eyes widening with delight. “God, I love nights like this. There’s something about dressing up and pretending we belong in a world like this.”
“Are we expecting this thing to be fun?” Ryan says with a yawn, stretching out his legs. “Or are we bracing for an evening of small talk with finance?”
“Nope, the only person I plan on spending quality time with is the barman.” Seb winks.
I shake my head, but as I glance out the window, my breath catches. The hotel looms ahead, its entrance framed by gilded lights, a steady stream of masked guests stepping onto the red carpet.
The car slows to a stop. I smooth my dress, nerves flickering beneath my excitement.
Millie nudges me with her elbow. “Breathe, Vi. You look hot, and we’re about to have the best night of our lives.”
The moment we step through the grand doors of the Waldorf, it’s like we stepped into a fairytale. A sweeping marble foyer unfolds before us, illuminated by the soft glow of crystal chandeliers. Guests drift through the space like living works of art—men in stylish tuxedos, their masks sleek and understated, women draped in shimmering silk and intricate lace, their faces hidden behind delicate filigree and feathers. A row of servers stand poised at the entrance, silver trays balanced effortlessly in gloved hands, offering flutes of champagne that catch the light like liquid gold. I pluck one from the tray, fingers grazing the chilled glass as I take it all in.
“Wow, this is breathtaking,” Millie says, her eyes on stalks as we navigate the grand staircase curving toward the ballroom.
“Fancy schmancy,” I say with a low whistle, giggling at the sight of Seb in a mask, his glasses resting on top. Ryan looks effortlessly handsome, his silk black mask contrasting with his blonde hair and smart black tux.
The elaborately carved double doors to the ballroom are wide open, the sound of the party already in full swing spilling down the stairway. The nerves in my belly seem to jump in time with the heavy thud of the bass. Already, the dancefloor is popping, a vast, glittering expanse of masked figures weaving in and out of the darkness as strobe lights mingle with the low-hanging chandeliers, patterns of light swirling on the parquet floor with an ethereal glow. A DJ stands elevated at the far end of the room, his booth framed by tall candelabras that seem to flicker and dance on every surface. Servers glide between the guests, their silver trays balancing bubbling champagne and jewel-toned cocktails.
“This shit is crazy,” Seb says, downing his champagne in one and smacking it down on the nearest surface before swiping another from the endless stream of passing servers. “It’s like some freaky Illuminati shit.”
“Yeah, the blood-drinking ritual starts at eleven,” Ryan says, checking an imaginary watch. Taking a sip of his champagne, he lowers his voice, beckoning us closer with a crooked finger. “I heard Chase hoards human blood in a secret vault in his basement.”
Millie rolls her eyes while Seb stifles a mock gasp. “We all know that’s not possible, Ryan,” Seb says drily, fixing his glasses straight. “He doesn’t have blood running through his veins, only dollar bills.”
Ryan stiffens, his head motioning to the door. “Shhh. Speak of the devil.”
