Barbie's POV
The morning light felt cruel.
Too bright, too sharp. The kind that exposed everything you didn't want to see — like the smudged makeup still staining my eyes, or the faint glitter clinging to my collarbone from last night.
I sat cross-legged on Cassie's bed, a mug of coffee cradled between my palms. She'd always hated mornings, but today she looked worse than me — hair tangled, hoodie swallowing her frame, and a glare sharp enough to slice through my hangover.
"So," she said, her voice still hoarse. "You really thought he was going to recognize you?"
I exhaled, long and shaky. "Cassie, it wasn't just him. His parents were there. And his mother—" I shuddered. "She kept staring like she'd seen me before. I thought my heart was going to stop."
Cassie's brow furrowed. "You didn't even dance that close to him when you worked at The Velvet Room, right?"
"No, but Mark was there one night," I said quietly. "He just didn't know it was me. The mask helped."
