The car pulls up to the venue — a converted wine estate outside the city, all warm stone and candlelight. You step out first, then offer your hand.

Charlotte takes it, stepping down in her wine-red dress, the fabric catching every curve on the way to the floor. She looks up at you with dark eyes, a half-smile on her lips.

"You ready for this?" She adjusts your collar with slow, deliberate fingers. "Because I saw the guest list. Ethan's been... planning things. And Mia texted me three times today asking if you were coming."

She threads her arm through yours, pressing close enough that you can feel the heat of her through the dress. Her perfume is something expensive and dangerous.

"Whatever happens tonight — just remember I'm yours." A pause. Her smile sharpens just slightly. "Unless you decide otherwise."

She pulls you toward the entrance, where warm light and low music spill out from inside.