"You drag me here for a surprise?" Kaylie whispered, grinning like she owned a secret. "I told you—trust me," Kaylie said, nudging Emerald toward the crowd. Her heels clicked. The bar pulsed with bass and laughter. A voice cut through. "Emerald Aguilar!" Jackson Stewart raised a glass on a small stage. "To the rising star of Riverside!" "Don't," Emerald said, tightening her jaw. She kept her hands in her coat pockets like a shield. "Come on, Em. Smile," Kaylie pushed, loud and delighted. "Tonight's about you." "Tonight's about me not being an exhibit," Emerald replied. She kept her tone low, even, but the room leaned in the way rooms do when a name is announced. A group immediately formed. Phones lifted. Someone shouted, "Make a speech!" A chorus of whoops answered. Jackson sashayed down, too polished to be natural. "Emerald, you can't refuse a toast." He winked, and the bar took that as permission. "To new ventures." "To new ventures," the crowd agreed. "No speeches," Emerald said. "No—" She tried to move away, but the rope of bodies tightened. Kaylie slapped her shoulder. "When did you stop being fun?" "Never," Emerald lied. "I just prefer being alive to being performative." "Alive is boring," Jackson said, raising his glass higher. "Performative is how we remember people." "Then remember me for my work," Emerald shot back. "Work is not a party," Jackson laughed. "But tonight is a celebration." "Celebration of what? My stake in some old-money