CHAPTER 3

CELESTE

The door bursts open.

“Celeste!”

Two staff members rush in, faces flushed. They stop dead at the sight of me—hair a mess, lipstick smeared, dress half-zipped. Their eyes flick to Adrian leaning against the wall, shirt wrinkled, hair mussed, chest still rising too fast.

Silence.

“Fix her,” Adrian says, voice sharp.

They scramble. One drags me into the chair, fumbling for powder and lip gloss. The other sprays perfume over me, heavy, too sweet, trying to mask ...