This isn’t our world.
This is his.
Chelsea
The walls are all gray, trimmed in that same silver. But the floors are black marble with veins of white and gold.
Silver chandeliers hang from the ceilings, looking like teardrops.
Dallas exhales a low whistle. “Would you look at this place.”
The ceilings are white marble, and the contrast is sharp—black, white, silver, gray. It’s bold. Masculine. Completely unapologetic.
I kinda dig it.
Servants dressed in black direct us to the ballroom. When we’re inside, my breath catches.
Mirrors line one wall, and here, the floor is white marble with veins of gold. It’s like a bright star sitting in the middle of a velvet blanket.
And everyone—and I mean all the witches, wizards, werewolves, and vampires—are dressed in black or white. There’s very little in between.
But me and my sisters? We look like a bouquet of flowers compared to them.
“Was there a memo we didn’t get?” Dallas asks, running her hands down her baby-blue gown.
“I think they figured since we’re at the Nightmare King’s house, they should keep color out of their palette,” Emory says, grabbing a flute of champagne from a tray that a servant offers.
“Ladies,” Nana says, floating in front of us. “This is your night to mingle and meet the king.”
“Which one is he?” Dallas asks.
Ovie runs her hands over her hair. “I get the feeling we’ll recognize him when we see him. Now, who do we know? Oh, look, Chelsea, there’s the Deveraux family. I hear the oldest is looking for a wife.”
And that’s my excuse to leave. “I’m suddenly so hungry. I’ll be back.”
Before my aunt can wrangle me into a conversation with anyone, I head off, sneakers squeaking as I cross the ballroom in search of a distraction. Any distraction.
There are plenty of people here that I know, and I give nods and smiles as I pass them.
But it’s when I hit the corner of the ballroom that I stop dead in my tracks.
Uncle Charlie.
Ovie’s husband.
Talking to a woman.
And not just talking. His arm brackets her against the wall. He’s leaning down and whispering something in her ear. She laughs and so does he.
My heart pounds against my chest.
Ovie’s here. Charlie’s here flirting with another woman and maybe doing more than that.
What do I do? Tell Ovie and ruin her night? Confront Charlie and make a scene?
Blood rushes in my ears, and my breathing becomes shallow. Sweat sprouts on my forehead as indecision wracks my body.
Charlie looks up and sees me.
