'You look sickening.'

You know from afar, deep in the recesses of your mind that you're drop-dead gorgeous, but one bad hour can ruin the rest of the day and suddenly you feel like a hobgoblin crawling out from under the bridge. Right then I couldn't hear the compliments. I was already picking the dress apart on my curvy figure, my ex's snippy remarks only adding to the disdain of my figure.

'Stop it,' Katie pressured coming up behind me in the mirror. Her auburn hair bundled under a blonde wig, she was dressed in white as Marilyn Monroe and dotting a beauty mark to finish the look. 'He doesn't deserve a spot in your beautiful, brilliant mind.'

Francesca, black hair coiled into plats as she dressed as a skimpy version of Wednesday Addams lifted her plastic butcher knife, the sharp end painted red. 'I can deal with the body, you just got to make the hit.'

'I need a night of well-deserved debauchery,' I said.

'Yes.' Francesca waved her knife around before slipping it into her leather thigh strap.

'Excluding murder.'

Francesca shrugged. 'Whatever, it's your life.'

The pink iridescent dress plunged low down my back and was loose around the bust for my breasts to run freely against me. The hem of the dress flanked the top of my thighs, if I bent down, you could see my underpants. I pulled on my tiny fairy wings and dusted my flesh with extra body shimmer. The warm summer evening caressed Katie's window that wasn't set properly so the glass clanked like the effects of a hurricane.

I picked the dress, I've committed to the outfit, I have no other party costumes and I really, truly needed this. Besides, my legs looked too good to be covered.

Zan is no longer a part of me. He made it abundantly clear that I hadn't been a part of him for a long time.

'If you want, we can fuck with his fiancee too,' Katie said applying a bit more lip liner.

'I appreciate the support. I doubt she even knows about me.' I hadn't heard a thing about the little virgin bride till last week. When he broke up with me over a candlelight dinner, a fancy evening just to fuck with my head. I felt that annoying pang in my chest from the hurt.

Why can't the body keep up? I know he's a bad guy, therefore my body should be repelled by him. But nooo, the feelings just have to reside deep in me. Just enough for me to miss that sonofabitch.

I pulled my earthy brown hair up in a messy bun. 'He wants a simple village woman. A basic housewife? Fine. She can endure him.'

'Poor wretch,' Francesca said, a tone filled with mock sympathy. 'Anyway, let's go. I hear that at this party, they give out Rolex's as party gifts.'

'That can't be true.' I snickered as I slipped into my stilettos.

'I'm gonna bag myself a hot rich douchebag,' Katie said as we piled into my expiring car. She crowded the back and leaned around my backrest while Francesca and I took the front. 'See if we can get a better car than this worthless piece of tin.'

'How about you bitches learn to drive yourselves around...' I was half-kidding. I cop it constantly for my lemon of a vehicle. The engine had a coughing fit when I started it up.

'Oooo,' they prodded at my testy self.

For the rest of the car ride, they schemed for a way to get me in bed with some billionaire for my "good health" and humble him.

I furrowed my brow. 'Humble him?'

'We think you're bossy in bed,' Francesca said flippantly.

'Purely because you're bossy in real life,' Katie said. Because sex is a dreamscape?

'Put your seatbelt on Kate.' I scoffed. 'I am not bossy. I'm assertive.'

'I bet you're dominating in the bedroom,' Katie said. 'I bet you bring out your clipboard and start scoring the effectiveness of their tongues on your—'

'Oh my god! What is wrong with you both?'

'Shut up. This is my song.' Francesca turned up the volume and we proceeded to the rich side of town, a thirty-minute drive of hits and us cracking the base of our throats as we sang.

The size of the houses doubled—some overcompensating by tripling in height but it seemed parties were happening everywhere.

'Look at these palaces,' Katie hissed.

'These places exist, and we're in a rental crisis,' I muttered. Francesca hissed like a feral cat. It didn't faze any of us, but I grew impatient at the foot traffic bombarding the streets. 'What is going on? Is there some public holiday I don't know about?'

'A second Halloween?' Katie said. What? In the summer?

'Maybe it's the end of the world and everyone is partying it out,' Francesca said.

It mattered little, except when it came to parking. We parked two streets away from the main mansion we had fancy invitations for.

'How did you score these?' I asked Katie.

'I slept with the event planner.'

I arched a brow. 'You're bi?'

'No. It was supposed to be a threesome, but the guy couldn't make it.'

'That's pretty gay sis.' Francesca grinned. It was unsettling under her gothic make-up and earned a cackle from me.

Katie shook her head defiantly. 'It's not thaaat gay if a man was going to be present.'

'You didn't think to reschedule?' I crossed my arms over my chest, and Francesca toyed with her plastic knife.

Katie pursed her lips. 'We were already so into the foreplay—'

'You're gay, bruh. There's no going back now.' Francesca flipped her pigtail back and marched ahead. She stomped in her gothic boots up the grand set of steps to the mansion. She stopped at the top, ignoring the security guard asking for the invitation and gestured us to follow with her knife. The bouncer paled at the sight of it.

'How was it?' I asked Katie.

'It was how I imagined having sex with you being like, all ordered and passionless...'

'You've imagined sex with me, and you don't think you're gay?' I teased ignoring the emotional backhand.

Passionless...

Passionless?

I wouldn't have described myself as so stoic and frigid, not with the way I did it with Zan and others in the past. I didn't want to admit it to myself, but I was quite hurt by this comment, even if it was so stupid.

We flashed the invitations to the security guard; I felt his eyes rake along my legs as we entered. I'm a bad feminist because it made me feel good. I sauntered in my confidence rising with the beat of the music, I was already bopping my head and swishing my hips through the crowd of this magnificent house. The host was unknown to me. Katie didn't know either. There was no name on the card.

Did all these people know? Or were we all strangers looking for a high behind these ceiling-to-floor windows? The DJ was outside by the pool with speakers connected from inside the house. Keeping us all deaf and screaming over them.

Was I about to meet the infamous Mr Gatsby?

I laughed at the thought.

I felt like a walking temptation with the looks I was getting, and I smirked in approval. Passionless, pfft. Not me. Katie followed close behind me and eventually, Francesca reappeared with a tray of shots. We didn't ask where she'd gotten them from, though I did pick out the disgruntled waiter glaring pointedly at her back.

After the second shot, I was making friends, after the third I was dancing like a busy social butterfly, spending half a minute with each dancer trying to find the perfect partner. Right before anyone's tongue lunged for my throat.

Passionless. Passionless. Katie was joking but damn I was still angry about it.

I was up on the table swirling my hips like a belly dancer. I had lost my friends somewhere around the room, but I didn't care. We were adults who could fend for ourselves. Tonight, I didn't want to be orderly, behave, or be anyone's mother on pure accident. I didn't want to drink anymore, my head already feeling light enough to carry me off the floor, but I didn't want to be the responsible one, the one who drove those two train wrecks home.

The sensation of warm oil ran a straight line down my back and I pivoted around, hips still grinding at the new electric gaze.

Lyra.

Huh? I bent down to talk to the masculine-looking guest dressed as a slutty sailor. 'Did you say my name?'

'What!?'

I waved him off and went back to dancing. Bending at the knee before bouncing up again feeling all my flesh jiggle. My hands scoped the swells and lean muscle on my torso.

Lyra.

My eyes snapped open. I heard an echoing chuckle in my head.

'What the f—' Someone gripped the back of my leg and pushed me off the table. I only just caught myself in time and felt a stab of pain in my ankle. I spun around to face my attacker head-on, my hand up balled tightly ready to hit. My heart plummeted into my stomach.

Zan marched into my space and my arm faltered to my side as his eyes glared at into. Hot but angry. I felt the unnecessary need to cover my chest but didn't. He doesn't deserve a lick of modest, meek, Lyra—

Lyra.

I shook my head. Zan's mouth was in a firm line. There was some voice in my mind whispering my name... Or it was the music. Yes. It had to be.

Zan hadn't dressed up, wearing faded jeans and a t-shirt. He glared down his Roman nose and bit back his usual nasty frown.

'You look like a slut,' Zan growled. The temperature of the room escalated to dangerous heat levels. They needed a fire hazard sign strapped to his head from his anger alone. Seriously, though, the place suddenly felt like a sauna.

What was horrible, was that he didn't need to shout. He may have not used the word slut, but its equivalent was dripping like venom from his tongue.

He grabbed my arm and pulled my ear to his mouth. 'Is this what happens when I break your heart? You go back to being a desperate pathetic woman, crying for any man's attention? If I knew you were always this weak...'

I smacked against his chest getting his hand off my arm. 'Why are you even here?' I stepped up into his face, hoping I looked like I was snarling. I should have asked for tips from Francesca. 'Would your fiancée approve?'

His hand snapped like a viper and grabbed my jaw, my heartbeat rattled around like a loose animal in my chest. 'If this is all for jealousy, consider me embarrassed for you.'

And just like that he was gone, back to his mates who hadn't seen his hand on me but regarded him highly.

All my nerves were shaken, like my system had crashed. I could feel the flight response kicking in until someone's hand grabbed my shoulders. Francesca tugged me around and bundled me in her arms.

'I'm here,' she slurred in a hushed tone in my ear. I refused to weep. I embraced the fire burying its roots in my chest.

'Fuck him,' I said.

Meanwhile, there was a distant feeling of someone's approval. Perhaps I was drunk already.