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The Vale townhouse on Belgrave Square always felt like a mu- seum of everything I didn't belong to. Marble floors stretched beneath my feet like frozen rivers of light, and Baccarat chandeliers hung overhead like captured constellations, each prism refracting a thousand tiny flames. I moved carefully through the crowd, my Dolce & Gabbana gown swishing against the polished stone, Louboutins clicking softly, as if the sound alone could anchor me here. My skin, warm cinnamon with a golden glow, felt almost too alive under the candlelight. I caught my reflection in one of the enormous mirrors lining the hall and barely recognized the porcelain perfection staring back at me: flawless, symmetrical, almost unreal. My grey ash-blonde hair framed my face in soft waves, tumbling to my shoulders, and my gold-blue eyes- glass-like and luminous-surveyed the room with detached curiosity. I didn't belong here. I never had. And yet, something inside me hummed with anticipation, like the air itself was vibrating in response to something unseen. I could feel it before I saw him.

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