Wrapped in obscene luxury.
Silver filigree pressed into its surface like something delicate and expensive.
A wax seal stamped with the Alvarez crest held everything together.
Elegant.
My fingers trembled as I reached for it.
I tore the ribbon off first.
Sharp. Unceremonious.
The paper peeled away beneath my hands.
Inside—a velvet box.
Deep burgundy. Hinged.
I opened it.
Another layer. Black tissue paper. Folded with obsessive care.
I pulled it aside.
Inside that—a small satin pouch.
My stomach tightened.
Slowly, I untied the drawstring.
Opened it.
A crystal bottle slid into my palm.
Small. Delicate.
No bigger than a perfume vial. Stoppered with a faceted glass cork.
The liquid inside shimmered.
Pale amber. Beautiful. Unassuming.
My brow furrowed slightly.
I lifted it closer to the light.
Read the tiny gold-foil label.
Peach liqueur. Artisanal. Small-batch.
Infused with real fruit essence.
My stomach dropped.
The world tilted slightly.
No.
