Tabitha’s POV

I barely managed to pull myself together later that night. The clock inside my room says quarter to seven and the dinner at Eliott Sharpe’s estate is supposed to be around seven. Sharp. There you go, we’ll be late for sure.

Not that it matters. Alpha Emery for one doesn’t seem bothered by the prospect of arriving a few minutes late. I don’t know. Maybe that’s just how rich people roll.

I take one final look at my reflection—I’m wearing a midnight-blue satin midi dress, simple and clean in its lines. The neckline sits low enough to show the sapphire necklace at my collarbone. Matching earrings rest against...