~ Camilla

I wanted to disappear. Anywhere.

The punch flute felt like a weapon in my hand. The delicate stem felt like a stand-in for the knife. I wished I could plunge it into his heart. Across the crowded, glittering gala, he was holding court. The man who had systematically dismantled my life and was now forcing me to help him rebuild the pieces into a pretty, acceptable picture. The second I stepped into the ballroom, every pair of eyes seemed to cut straight through me, curious, assessing, judging. My hand rested stiffly on Stephano’s arm, though “rested” was too polite a word. It was glued. His grip around my...