"Fine," I muttered. "But I’m only going because you’re giving me no choice."
"That’s the spirit!" he said, his grin widening.
I regretted my decision the moment we pulled up to the venue. It was some upscale, glitzy event space—exactly the kind of place Anya would celebrate. The building sparkled with lights, and the crowd was buzzing, dressed in their finest. I tugged at the hem of my dress, suddenly feeling out of place.
"Let’s just get this over with," I muttered as we walked inside.
The second we entered, it felt like all eyes were on us. Or maybe just on me. I spotted Giovanni almost immediately, standing by the bar with a drink in hand, chatting and laughing with Anya. She looked stunning, of course, like she always did—her long, dark hair flowing down her back, her dress hugging every curve perfectly. And then there was me, standing awkwardly in the middle of a crowd that didn’t seem to notice I was shrinking into myself.
"Samara! You made it!" Anya’s voice rang out over the crowd, and I forced a smile as she walked over, her heels clicking on the polished floor.
"Yeah, couldn’t miss it," I said, my voice a little tighter than I intended.