Zoe's POV
The engine hummed softly beneath us as Jason's wrought-iron gates came into view, tall and gleaming under rows of white lights.
Brandon slowed the car instinctively, like crossing the threshold of something he wasn't entirely ready to face.
The mansion rose ahead—grand, glassy, intimidating. It looked less like a house and more like a venue meant for premieres and power plays. Cars streamed in ahead of us: black SUVs, luxury sedans, sleek sports cars that probably cost more than my childhood home.
Every arrival was greeted by camera flashes, by voices calling out names I only half-recognized from tabloids and social media.
This wasn't just a birthday party.
This was a statement.
Brandon parked but didn't move right away. His fingers stayed tight around the steering wheel as he stared straight ahead, jaw clenched, chest rising and falling like he was bracing himself.
I turned toward him. "Are you okay?"
