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Emily gives me a knowing look. "Mmhmm, suuure. By 'what the night brings,' you mean tall, dark, and stalkery, right?"

The hairbrush goes flying with full telenovela levels of drama. "Girl, stop!" My cheeks flame hotter.

"Your thirsty blushing speaks volumes!" Emily wiggles her eyebrows for maximum teasing.

My stomach flutters again thinking about seeing Mr. Tall Dark and Sexy tonight, but no way am I feeding Emily more juicy deets. I give her my best "simmer down" side-eye.

"You're incorrigible," I shoot back, serving her with an exaggerated eye roll. "Now, hand over that hairbrush so I can tame this mess. These locks need some serious magic before showtime."

Emily grabs my hands, getting serious. "Listen—Rhyland's gonna drool the second he sees you, 'cause you a snack no matter what. But if you wanna slay...."

She whips out her glam bag like Mary Poppins. "Then leave it to me, boo. Tonight, we're serving supernova levels of beauty and power. Imma have you walking in looking so badass that Rhyland's fangs will spontaneously pop out. Now let's get you dazzling!"

Emily gets to work on my makeup. She lines my eyes dramatically, adding a shimmering rose color to my lips. When she finishes, I'm stunned by my reflection— mysterious, alluring.

Maria arrives, toting a heavy case of styling tools. Our go-to hair guru.

Our girlish chatter fills the air as she circles me, gently sweeping up sections of my hair. I watch her work in the mirror, the repetitive tugs on my scalp soothing. The smell of hairspray tickles my nose.

With a playful grin, Maria finally spins my chair around slowly. I gasp—my unruly locks are now an intricate ethereal cascade, soft curls framing my face elegantly.

Emily squeals and grabs her phone, snapping pics. "You look freaking amazing!"

I picture Rhyland seeing me like this, desire burning off him. My pulse quickens, and butterflies take flight in my stomach. Tonight feels brimming with magic and possibility.

The setting sun streaks the horizon pink and gold as we put the finishing touches on our looks. I shiver with anticipation, scarcely able to wait for the enchanted evening ahead.

Donning our dresses and masks, Emily and I step into the waiting limo, pulses quickening.

I clench my friend's hand, trying to temper the mix of excitement and anxiety rising within me. Tonight could be magical if I stop obsessively trying to control everything and let it unfold naturally. It's easier said than done for someone like me who hates uncertainty.

My mind spins scenarios, desperately plotting ways to engineer some fairy tale evening. But Emily's bubbly energy pulls me back to the present. She squeals as the mansion comes into view, glittering like a jewel in the night.

Emily reminds me to breathe, to just savor these moments with her. As we don our masks and enter the grand hall, I consciously try to quiet my worries and open my senses. The music, the colors, and the collective aura of celebration transport me.

I don't need the perfect night—just the miracle of fully experiencing each imperfect moment as it comes.

Reality holds its wonder when you open your eyes to it. For now, enjoying time with my best friend is all I need. The magic is already here if I allow myself to see it. Sometimes, you have to trust the beauty of the unfolding.

Rhyland

28

Istep into Azrael's grandiose hellhole, the place dripping in riches but marinated in menace. Drenched in shadows and barely-there lights, the place reeks of a charm laced with doom. The main event, the ballroom, hits me like a beast, with chandeliers casting a spell over the masked freaks below. I stride through the crowd, magnetic and menacing, snagging every damn stare.

The masked bunch parade around, their faces hidden by some high-end craftwork, slashing their identity to ribbons. Dresses swirling in every color of the sinful rainbow catch the light and toy with your eyes.

The orchestra's melodies float through the air like spells of enchantment. Couples twirl elegantly across the floor in a graceful rhythm.

Waiters zip around, their trays juggling enough bubbly to drown in. I stalk through this shit show of excess, eating up the power trip that's buzzing just under the skin of it all.

Then, there's Blackwood, playing kingpin in his fancy threads. He's got the whole crowd eating out of his palm, clinging to his every slick word. But underneath the schmooze, there's a pitch-black hunger that makes my flesh crawl. The guy's a walking plague—power-hungry, stepping over corpses without a second glance. The sight of him playing his sick game lights a fire in me.

And what the fuck? There's Marcus Welch, decked out and dodging between the suits. Wolves are everywhere. Has Azrael thrown in with those bastards now? My head's all fogged up with the question.

I snap back to the game plan—rip off Azrael's mask of bullshit and keep the normals safe. It's gonna be a hell of a ride, but we're taking this one home.

Up on the stairs, Lucian and Erik are owning the place, every inch the lords they damn well are. Lucian's all tangled up with some dame in red, his words for her ears only. And there's Erik, throwing back a cocktail of O-positive like he's toasting his kingdom. I close the gap, and Erik gives me the nod. "Evening," he tosses out, steady as ever.