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Slow. Deliberate. Cruel.

“Oh, sweetheart. Don't flatter yourself.”

A woman standing nearby makes an uncomfortable sound. Celeste hears it and somehow takes it as encouragement.

“I just mean I didn't actually see you come in together.”

“And?”

“Do you have your invitation?”

For one second, I genuinely don't understand the question.

“What?”

“Your invitation.” She holds out one manicured hand. “Surely you have one.”

I stare at it. Then at her.

“You want me to show you my invitation?”

“If you're actually supposed to be here, why wouldn't you?”

This bitch.

“You can't be serious.”

“I am.”

Her smile gets uglier.

“Because from where I'm standing, I only saw you talking to Mitchell. You could've walked up to him after you got inside.”

“And how exactly do you think I got inside?”

She shrugs.

“People sneak into private events all the time.”

“Do they?”

“Of course.”

“They get past the high priced security that’s set up to guard events like this?”

“I mean, sure they do.”

“At a gala filled with politicians, billionaires, and apparently the self-appointed Invitation Police? And you think I did this?”

Someone nearby snorts. Celeste's eyes flash.

“Make jokes if you want. But I think you snuck in here like the desperate leach you are! Probably trying to fool some rich man into taking you home for the night.”

My mouth falls open.

“Wow! You are outrageous!”

“Am I?”