Seraphina
The air-conditioned silence of Elysium Plaza's private dressing suite wrapped around me like expensive silk. I studied my reflection in the tri-fold mirror, watching emerald fabric pool against my skin. Perfect. The Valentino dress hugged every curve exactly as it should.
Then Tess emerged from her suite.
We locked eyes in the mirror—both wearing identical green Valentino dresses.
I felt my smile sharpen before I could stop it. Of course she did.
"Well." Tess turned slowly, the fabric catching the boutique's expensive lighting. Her voice carried that familiar edge we'd perfected over years of friendship—the kind that could cut or caress depending on who was listening. "Great minds."
"Or just one mind, apparently," I said, already unzipping.
She laughed, the sound genuine. "Don't be dramatic, Sera. You know you wear it better."
"I know." I disappeared back into my suite. "But I'm not wearing the same dress as anyone. Even you."
"Especially me, you mean," she called after me, amused rather than offended.
Ten minutes later, I emerged in a black Balmain number that cost three times what the Valentino did. Custom, naturally. Tess had already changed too—a burgundy Mugler that made her look like controlled fire.
We appraised each other with the honesty only real friends—or real enemies—could manage.
"Better," we said simultaneously, then smiled.
My Lamborghini Huracán sat exactly where I'd left it, midnight black and gleaming under Luxuria's afternoon sun. The valet—Marco, I'd bothered learning his name after the third tip—practically materialized to open my door.
"Thank you, Marco." I slid behind the wheel as Tess settled into the passenger seat without waiting for invitation.
The engine purred to life.
"So," Tess said as we merged into traffic, her phone already out, scrolling through what was probably the same party chatter I'd been ignoring. "How long before Roman does something catastrophically stupid tonight?"
I changed lanes without signaling, cutting off a Tesla. "He won't."
"He won't, or you won't let him?"
"Is there a difference?" I glanced at her. "You're coming for him early tonight."
"Just making sure you remember what you're working with." She tilted her head, studying me with those sharp brown eyes that missed nothing. "He's pretty, Sera. But pretty doesn't always stay useful."
"Roman's perfectly useful." My voice cooled by exactly one degree—the temperature that meant subject closed in our private language.
Tess smiled and looked back at her phone. "If you say so."
The Caldwell mansion sprawled across three acres of prime Luxuria real estate. Old money—Roman's family had been in banking for generations. Respectable. Established. Almost Voss-level.
Almost.
The circular driveway was already packed with expensive cars, each one a little less expensive than mine.
I'd barely killed the engine before Roman appeared at my door. He moved fast when he wanted something—people forgot that about him. Let them. The Golden Boy act worked.
"Sera." His hands found my waist before my feet hit the ground, pulling me against him with just enough pressure to remind me he was stronger than his pretty face suggested. The kiss was possessive, performed. I allowed it for exactly three seconds before stepping back.
"Roman." I smoothed my dress where his hands had creased it. "You're wrinkling the Balmain."
His smile didn't quite reach his eyes—it never did, not really, not if you knew what to look for. "Can't help it. You're the most beautiful thing here."
"I know." I moved past him toward the entrance.
Tess was already out of the car, exchanging a look with Roman I pretended not to see. They understood each other, those two. Recognized the same hunger.
It's why I kept them both close.
Roman's normally pristine home had been transformed into exactly the kind of controlled chaos we specialized in. The foyer's chandelier cast prismatic light across bodies pressed together, the music vibrating through marble and bone. Expensive furniture pushed aside. Crystal decanters on every surface. A hired bartender who'd been paid enough not to ask questions.
"SERA!" A girl i barely recognised—Ashley? Alyssa?—stumbled toward me with a drink she'd already spilled on herself. "Oh my God, that dress is insane—"
"Thanks." I sidestepped her with practiced ease.
Roman's hand settled against the small of my back, warm and weighted. "Drink?"
"I'm driving."
"Just one. Come on, Sera..." His thumb traced small circles against my spine, the gesture almost absent. Almost.
I turned to face him, close enough that anyone watching would see intimacy, far enough that I controlled the space between us. "I said no."
Something flickered in his eyes—not disappointment. Something colder. Then it vanished behind that golden-boy smile. "Whatever you want, baby."
"I know." I kissed his cheek, tasting expensive cologne and expensive lies.
Tess had already disappeared into the crowd, doing what she did best—listening, watching, collecting information we'd compare later like trading cards.
I scanned the room, cataloging faces and futures. This wasn't just a party. This was the opening move of our senior year at Westfield Academy.
And I'd already won before anyone else realized we were playing.