The champagne was flat.

Not literally. The bubbles still fizzed cheerfully in the crystal glass she held, but the taste on her tongue was sour. Flat. No matter how expensive the vintage, it couldn’t cover the bitterness lining her throat. It matched the way this entire party felt — polished on the outside, but dead beneath the surface.

This whole event was a lie.

Did they know Laura was a lowlife whore? That she was pregnant? That the soon-to-be groom was a cheating asshole with a little ...