“Can you believe that woman still breathes the same air as us?” Selene Vaughn scoffed, swirling her wine glass, the deep red liquid glinting under the dim chandelier of the rooftop lounge. Her laughter was honey-laced poison.

Sophia smirked, crossing her long legs. “You mean Aria Carter-Cross? Please. She’s a ghost wearing designer heels. You and Damian are the real couple people talk about.”

Selene laughed softly that dangerous, self-satisfied sound. “Of course we are. Damian can’t breathe without me. When you see Damian Cross, you see Selene Vaughn. That’s how it’s always been.”

Sophia leaned closer. “By the way, I heard something interesting. Your darling rival called me.”

Selene...