Her smile falters.
Good.
Because I’ve never hated this place more.
Never hated them more.
Never hated myself more than I do right now, standing in the middle of marble and gold while Jade is somewhere hurting because of all of us.
Vivian senses the shift.
She stands, adjusts her mini dress, and huffs.
“You’re delusional if you think you can change anything.”
Maybe I am.
But she doesn’t get the last word.
I exhale one long plume of smoke.
“Watch me.”
I leave the man cave with the cigar still between my fingers and a fresh pour of something aged enough to make my father jealous. The marble floors echo under my shoes as I cross the main hall.
A DJ has taken over the far corner, bass thumping hard enough to shake dust from the chandelier.
Half the kids are dancing.
The other half are standing in circles gossiping.
The rest are doing whatever they want—because consequences don’t exist in their world.
I move through them like a ghost. No one touches me, but they all feel me. Heads turn. Eyes follow. Whispers trail behind me like smoke.
Then I find the door.
The “secret room.”
Rosalie’s father probably thinks it’s a sophisticated library.
It’s not.
It’s a sex den.
Red lighting.
Leather sofas.
Velvet curtains.
The scent of perfume, sweat, and desperation.
And, of course?—
Tristan is dead center, a girl grinding on his lap like she’s auditioning for rent. His hands are on her hips. His mouth is on her neck. He looks like he’s living his best degenerate life.
X is in the corner.
