𝔸ℙ𝔸𝕋ℍ𝕐

08. ℙ𝕒𝕚𝕟 𝕠𝕣 ℙ𝕝𝕖𝕒𝕤𝕦𝕣𝕖

Song: In between by Ayra Starr "it's like I'm falling in this endless pit of life...."

MYRA’S POV

Saturday nights always felt heavier in this city.
Like the air itself carried a hum — money, perfume, sin, all of it tangled together.

And tonight, I was walking right into it.

I stood in front of the mirror as Elena fussed over my hair. “Just a little more gloss,” she said, swiping color over my lips.

“I really don’t need this much makeup,” I muttered, watching her reflection.

Elena gave me that look — the one that meant shut up and let me work magic. “You’re going to a high-profile birthday party. This isn’t the time for natural girl-next-door. This is the time for damn, who is she?”

Sophie, perched on my bed, chimed in. “Elena’s right. Girl, men are going to drop at your feet looking like that.”

I snorted, adjusting the strap of my short white dress. “No, Sophie. Men don’t fall at my feet. They prefer to take what they want by force.”

The room went silent.

“Not all men,” Sophie tried carefully.

I cut her off, sharper than intended. “Just save it.”

Elena sighed dramatically. “Okay, okay. Can we not ruin the mood? It’s almost nine. You need to go.”

I grabbed my clutch, kissed their cheeks, and walked out before either could try to dig deeper.

****

The driver was already waiting. I slid into the black car and pretended to scroll Instagram, though my brain wasn’t processing anything.

Dante’s face kept flashing in my mind. That arrogant, infuriating man. He lingered in my head like a splinter — unwanted, but impossible to ignore. Why did I care that he hated me? I hated him, too.

At least… I wanted to.

“Ma’am, we’re here,” the driver said, jolting me out of my spiral.

****

The “castle” was glowing. That’s the only way to describe it. White walls washed in golden light, luxury cars lined up outside, people in silk and diamonds laughing like they owned the world.

My heels clicked against marble as I walked toward the entrance, ignoring the curious stares. Hold the phone. Smile. Don’t flinch.

Inside, the air smelled of money — expensive champagne, roses, and power.

“My beautiful child!” Mrs. Adele swept toward me in a golden gown that screamed elegance and old money.

“Happy birthday,” I said, letting her pull me into a hug.

“You are stunning.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

She linked her arm through mine and pulled me toward a crowd, introducing me to people whose last names I recognized from the news. For a moment, I felt like an intruder in someone else’s world.