Elena's POV

When I walked back into the private room, something had changed.

I glanced at Stella. She was half-reclined at the table, her hair falling in soft waves around her pale face. Her eyes were glassy, lips curved into a smile that almost fooled me, soft, unsteady, a little too perfect. For one fleeting moment, I allowed myself to believe she was truly drunk, truly fragile.

I almost wanted to look away and leave her there, but instinct pinned me in place. Something was wrong. I ...