STELLA

If someone had told me I’d enjoy myself at a Bratva gala, I would’ve laughed in their face. Yet here I am, champagne glass in hand, actually smiling, and it's not the fake, tight-lipped one I usually reserve for literally everyone. I'm genuinely smiling. Shocking, I know.

The ballroom is awash in gold light, the kind that makes everything look expensive and untouchable. Crystal chandeliers drip overhead, catching in the curls of my hair when I tilt my head. Soft music flows ...