The liquid gold of champagne kissed Olivia's lips with deceptive sweetness, the bubbles popping like tiny explosions of anticipation. Her eyes flickered past the flute's rim, scanning for Cathleen's familiar silhouette. She wasn't back yet. Olivia slid off the high chair at the bar with a practiced and effortless grace, her heels clicking a steady rhythm on the marble floor as she made her way to the restroom.

"Evening," Olivia murmured, her head bowing just enough to feign respect without submission as she passed a pair of exiting women. The smirk that followed clung to her face like a shadow of darker thoughts.

Inside, the restroom carried echoes of hushed...