SERAPHINA’S POV
The moment I saw Celeste’s reflection in the spa’s gilt-edged mirror, I knew the peace was over.
Her golden hair swayed like she had a personal wind machine following her, and the laughter spilling from her lips wasn’t just loud—it was performative.
Flanking her were Abby and Emma, all three carrying the smugness of people used to having the world bow at their feet.
Maya’s hand was still on mine from when they’d walked in. The squeeze she gave me was subtle, but the message was clear: Brace yourself.
We were invisible for the first ten glorious seconds—until Abby’s gaze landed on me. Her steps slowed, her mouth curled. And then the performance began.
“Oh my God,” she gasped, the sound dripping with disbelief. “Seraphina Lockwood. You’re alive?”
Emma followed with a hand clasped dramatically to her chest. “Oh, what good luck! I heard she was attacked by rogues—again.” She lingered on the last word as though it tasted bitter.
