Sky sat near the head of the table beside Xavier, her dress barely covering the mess between her legs. She sat ramrod straight, ankles crossed, knees clenched. Her core ached. But nothing was compared to the gaze that was on her.

Across from her sat Isabella. Regal. Poised as ever. As her fingers curled around the stem of her wine glass, nails glossy, lips painted blood red. She looked Sky dead in the eye, not with curiosity, but with calculation. With disgust disguised as decorum.

“So tell us, Sky…” she said, her smile syrupy and false, “…where do you come from? Give us a brief detail of yourself. We’re eager…absolutely...