The Cavert soirée shimmered like a jewel in the August heat. Chandeliers burned too brightly, scattering gold across silk and glass, and the scent of gardenias drifted in from the open veranda. Laughter swelled and fell with the rhythm of the orchestra, the sound of a society determined to forget its rot beneath the polish.
Serena paused at the top of the marble steps, the faintest smile poised on her lips. The blue silk of her gown caught the candlelight and shimmered when she moved; the sapphires at her throat winked like cool flame. Conversations faltered as she entered—the habitual, reflexive hush that followed her wherever she appeared. It was not admiration. It was curiosity sharpened by cruelty.
She welcomed it. Let them look. Let them whisper. Tonight their scrutiny would make her visible again.
