Harper – Age 18
CULT CARDS AND BIRTHDAY CAKES.
It’s my birthday.
I stared at the text on my screen, the first one I’d sent since Logan told me not to contact him. I’d sent it an hour ago. There had been no response.
There were so many people here. I wasn’t even sure who’d been in charge of sending out the invitations, probably one of my father’s assistants, or an event planner who had never even met me.
The hall glittered with gold. It bubbled in glasses. It draped from chandeliers, necks, and wrists. No expense spared, as usual. And yet everyone seemed to be enjoying my party more than I was.
There were faces I recognized: Tristan, Henrik, Andor, Bianka, Miksa… Jarred. There were also people from previous events my family hosted, charity galas, or the media. I knew their names, their reputations, their portfolios, but I didn’t know them. And they definitely didn’t know me.
“Happy birthday, Harper!” someone called, much too loudly. I stuffed my phone back into my pocket. I was certain I’d never met him before. I nodded and smiled anyway.
A crowd of elegant strangers surrounded me.
I’d never felt more alone.
Birthdays used to be fun, but never because of these parties. Logan made them fun.
I kept to the upper level of the two-story hall, perched at the railing so I was visible. Dad wouldn’t like it if I wasn’t easily seen by guests, but it had the bonus of being away from the bulk of the crowd below.
“Happy birthday, darling,” my mother said as she approached, a champagne flute in either hand. She held one out to me. There was a soft smile on her lips that didn’t reach her glazed eyes. She was high. She was always high.
“I’m eighteen, Mom. Not twenty-one.”
She blinked slowly and spoke slower. “Right. Yes. I know that.” She pushed the flute into my hand anyway. “Well, I won’t tell anyone.”
“Rosanne.” My father’s stern voice, right on cue. “Why don’t you go mingle… somewhere else?”
Mom’s jaw tightened. “Enjoy your party, dear,” she told me as she turned and left us, because she always did whatever he said.
My father snatched the champagne glass out of my hand, his disapproval clear. The way he looked at me always made me feel like I was guilty of something. “Mom gave it to me.”
“You didn’t have to accept it. You know your mother gets…confusedsometimes. It’s on you not to allow her to cause a scene.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Go socialize.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Not with that Archer, Harper.Bianka.”
I nodded and stepped away before he could demand any more. Archer wasn’t even here yet, and he’d been ignoring my texts all day.
I descended the stairs to join the crowd as my father watched from on high. Always watching. I’d have to at least try to make small talk with Bianka, even though neither of us wanted that.
These people had a talent for talking without saying anything. Every conversation felt the same. “Happy birthday, how’s business?” and other rehearsed lines. I’d approached Bianka, only because Dad was still watching, and she’d given me a disdainful once-over like I was intruding at my own party.
Now she was talking to Jarred, and she seemed far more thrilled by his company. I didn’t blame her.
“You look so fucking bored,” said a voice that made my eye twitch. Tristan.
“No I don’t.” I responded, a practiced smile on my lips.
“Hmm maybe, but you are.”
