"I told you—this is a private room," Cristina sang as stilettos clicked on polished marble. "Make it quick," Leticia said, sliding her phone out. "Record his reaction. This is the one night that changes everything." "Relax," Hermione purred. "Cristina knows her lines." Cristina shrugged off a fur coat like a stage actress. "You know our families—this will secure everything." She smiled at me and the smile was practiced enough to sting. I tried to sit up straighter. My voice was paper-thin. "You don't have to—" "Shh," Leticia hissed, holding up the phone so the light skimmed the man's profile in the box across the room. "He likes private. He hates cameras." Hermione set a drink in front of me without looking. "Just do the scene. You play overwhelmed, you let him feel needed, he signs, he leaves. We get the clip. We get the headline. We get the leverage." "That's not why I'm here," I said. My tongue felt heavy. Cristina moved closer and the perfume hit me like a wall. "Act lost. Act grateful. Say something about family ties." She leaned down and whispered, "You know our families—this will secure everything." Her lip grazed my cheek. "Remember your line." "Line?" I tried to smile. It came out as a small, tired curve. "Line," Cristina echoed, amused. "You say you owe him. You imply a favor. Don't be weird. Don't be dramatic." A man in the private box across the