“You’re wearing the vintage Cartier tonight, Vivian. The one with the emeralds. It matches the coldness in your eyes when you’re lying.”

Emelia’s voice was like a silken garrote as she stood behind me in the dressing room. She didn’t wait for me to respond; she simply reached over my shoulder and fastened the heavy gold clasp around my neck. The gems felt like ice against my skin, a collar marking me as her property.

“Damian Carter is not a man you can distract with a pretty laugh, Celeste,” she whispered into my ear, her reflection in the mirror looking more like a predatory bird than a socialite. “He knew...