That night, the Carrington estate looked like something out of a magazine. Every corner was blazing with gold light, and the air was alive with music, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. Luxury cars lined the driveway like an exhibit, polished so bright they mirrored the moon.

I remember my stomach twisting the moment I stepped inside. Maybe it was the way people’s eyes flicked over me, sizing me up, deciding instantly that I didn’t belong. Perhaps it was the heavy perfume in the air, ...