Echoes of Betrayal (6)

The music was lovely, as always. Light, orchestral, celebratory. A song composed to honor love.

It made my skin crawl.

I stepped onto the balcony, away from the clinking of glasses and saccharine congratulations echoing through the ballroom. The moon hung low, pale and judgmental, casting the garden in ghostlight. The scent of roses drifted upward, too sweet, too artificial. I gripped the edge of the marble railing and took a breath that didn't taste like perfume or politics. For a moment, I could almost believe I wasn't drowning.

Of course, that moment didn't last.

Click. Click. Click.

I didn't have to turn to know it was her. The air always shifted when Helen entered a room—even one she didn't belong to. It became more charged, more aware of itself. As though the world tilted to accommodate her presence. Even the night bent toward her, shadows curving like a bow.