Farrah appears flanked by Shay and Harlow like some discount version of a royal entourage. Before I can escape, she situates herself onto my lap without invitation, her perfume invading my senses—too sweet, too manufactured, nothing like the natural scent of⁠—

No. Not going there.

It figures why they're all friends—cut from the same designer cloth, sharing the same cultivated tastes and remarkable tolerance for Farrah's casual cruelty. The weight of her on my lap feels wrong. Everything about this night feels wrong.

"Baby, you look so tired. Are you sure you don't want me to help you relax a little?" Her hands wander across my chest, her touch lingering longer than I want. When her fingers edge lower, I snap, grabbing her wrists. The motion is gentle but firm—a warning.

"I'm good right here," I say, my voice sharp enough to slice through steel.

Instead of taking the hint, she drapes herself over my body, claiming me in a possessive display that makes my skin crawl.

“We heard you nearly got shot by your dealer today," Shay drones on, her voice as dull as her personality. She and her twin sister have morphed into robotic clones, perfectly crafted by Farrah to follow her every whim.

"You need to find a new hobby,” I growl, irritation boiling over. I'm on the verge of exploding, surrounded by whispers and accusations I don't need.

My attention snaps to a nearby conversation, where Christian and his crew are eyeing someone new.

"Who's the new girl hanging off Jake's arm?" Christian leers, his voice carrying over the music. Farrah blocks my view, but I strain to see past her.

"Must be a new out-of-towner. Fuck, she's nice to look at," another voice chimes in. "He's one lucky son of a bitch."

A sickening feeling coils in my gut before I even see her—Nora. I feel her presence like a shift in the atmosphere, a gravitational pull that's impossible to resist.

"I'd like to get between tho⁠⁠—"

"You won't finish that sentence if you know what's good for you," I snap, my voice low and deadly.

I turn, and there she is.

Nora moves through the crowd with an effortless grace that draws every eye in the room. Her skirt clings to her curves, Chuck Taylors stark against the white hemline, crop top revealing a strip of golden skin that makes my fingers itch to touch. Her hair flows over her shoulders in waves I remember running my hands through in dreams. Despite her casual confidence, her eyes remain distant, guarded like she's wearing invisible armor.

I've watched her draw attention effortlessly all her life, a force of nature that can't be contained. But the truth hits hard—I'm not the guy she once knew. I'm damaged goods, fractured by life's harsh trials, while she remains untouched by the darkness that consumes me.

"Who is she?" Farrah presses, her curiosity laced with venom.

"No one," I lie.