Chapter 1

The crystal chandelier cast dancing shadows across the marble foyer as laughter echoed through our villa. My eighteenth birthday party was everything I'd dreamed it would be—elegant, magical, perfect. The champagne bubbles tickled my throat as I moved through clusters of friends, their animated conversations creating a symphony of celebration around me.

"Bellia, you look absolutely stunning tonight," my friend Madison gushed, her eyes sparkling with genuine admiration. "That dress is divine."

I smoothed the silk of my emerald gown, feeling the weight of the diamond necklace Dad had surprised me with earlier. "Thank you. I can hardly believe I'm finally eighteen."

The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed eleven-thirty, and my heart fluttered with anticipation. In just thirty minutes, the fireworks display Dad had arranged would light up the night sky, followed by the drone show that had cost more than most people's cars. I'd been planning this moment for weeks—watching the spectacle with Sherry, my best friend since childhood, sharing this milestone together as we always had.

But where was she?

I scanned the crowded living room, searching for her familiar auburn curls and bright smile. She'd been here earlier, complimenting my dress and helping me greet guests. Now, as the evening reached its crescendo, she was nowhere to be found.

"Looking for someone?" Allen Reid appeared at my elbow, his dark eyes concerned behind wire-rimmed glasses. Unlike my other friends who were already tipsy on champagne, Allen remained clear-eyed and observant.

"Have you seen Sherry?" I asked, trying to keep the worry from my voice. "The fireworks start soon, and I wanted us to watch them together from the terrace."

Allen's expression grew thoughtful. "I saw her about twenty minutes ago. She was talking to your father near the study, but I haven't seen her since."

A strange flutter of unease passed through me, but I pushed it aside. Sherry was probably just freshening up or taking a phone call. She wouldn't miss the fireworks—not when we'd been planning this night for months.

"I'll find her," I said, giving Allen a grateful smile. "Could you let everyone know the show starts in twenty-five minutes? I want to gather everyone on the terrace."

As I moved away from the party's epicenter, the noise gradually faded to a distant hum. The villa's upper floors were dimly lit, creating pools of shadow between the wall sconces. I checked the guest bathroom first—empty. Then the library where Sherry sometimes retreated when social gatherings became overwhelming—also empty.

My heels clicked against the hardwood as I climbed to the third floor, an area of the house we rarely used. The guest bedrooms up here were pristine but cold, maintained by our housekeeper but seldom occupied. I pushed open door after door, calling Sherry's name softly.

Nothing.

Frustration began to build in my chest. Where could she possibly be? The countdown to midnight was approaching, and I couldn't imagine celebrating this moment without her. Sherry had been there for every important event in my life—my first day of high school, my driver's test, my acceptance to Columbia. She was more than my best friend; she was my sister in everything but blood.

That's when I remembered the attic.

The narrow staircase leading up was tucked away behind an inconspicuous door at the end of the hallway. We'd played up there as children, turning the dusty space into our secret hideaway. But we hadn't been up there in years—not since we'd outgrown games of make-believe and treasure hunts.

Still, if Sherry wanted privacy, it would be the perfect place.

The wooden steps creaked under my weight as I climbed, my dress rustling in the confined space. A sliver of light leaked from beneath the attic door, confirming someone was indeed up there. Relief flooded through me—I'd found her.

"Sherry?" I called softly, not wanting to startle her. "The fireworks are about to start. Everyone's wondering where you are."

Silence.

I reached for the brass doorknob, my heart light with anticipation. In just a few minutes, we'd be back downstairs, arm in arm on the terrace, watching the sky explode in brilliant colors while our friends cheered around us.

The door swung open.

Time stopped.

My father stood in the center of the small, lamp-lit room, his usually perfect hair disheveled, his bow tie loosened. But it wasn't his appearance that made my blood turn to ice—it was the way his hands were tangled in auburn curls, the way his mouth was pressed against lips I'd seen smile at me a thousand times.

Sherry.

My best friend. My father.

Together.

The champagne in my stomach turned to acid. The diamond necklace felt like it was choking me. Every sound—the distant party music, my own ragged breathing, the rustle of fabric—seemed amplified in the sudden, horrible clarity of the moment.

"Dad?" The word escaped as barely a whisper, cracked and disbelieving. "Sherry?"

They broke apart like guilty teenagers, but Dad's face didn't show the shame I expected. Instead, his expression hardened into something cold and annoyed, as if I were an unwelcome interruption to his evening plans.

Sherry's face was flushed, her lipstick smeared, her eyes wide with something that might have been fear or defiance—I couldn't tell which. She took a small step backward, but Dad moved protectively in front of her, shielding her with his body.

"Bellia." His voice was sharp, authoritative. The same tone he used in business meetings when someone challenged his decisions. "You shouldn't be up here."

Shouldn't be up here? In my own house? On my own birthday?

The room seemed to tilt around me. This couldn't be happening. Not Dad. Not Sherry. Not the two people I loved and trusted most in the world.

"I... I was looking for Sherry," I managed, my voice sounding strange and distant to my own ears. "The fireworks..."

"Go back to your party," Dad ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. His arm tightened around Sherry's waist, pulling her closer against him. "Now."

The dismissal hit me like a physical blow. He wasn't denying what I'd seen. He wasn't explaining. He wasn't apologizing. He was simply telling me to leave, as if my presence was the problem, not the betrayal unfolding before my eyes.

Sherry's gaze met mine over Dad's shoulder, and for a moment, I saw something flicker there—guilt, perhaps, or regret. But then her chin lifted slightly, and whatever vulnerability I'd glimpsed vanished.

The sound of distant fireworks beginning to pop and crackle drifted up through the villa's walls. My birthday celebration was reaching its climax below, but up here in this dusty attic, my world was crumbling into pieces too small to ever put back together.