NATHAN JANG
"Nathan?"
The female voice was soft and insistent...and wrong. Not Vanessa's voice. Someone else's. A hand curled around my arm, warm and possessive, and suddenly, the world snapped back into focus.
Jazz music swirled through the grand ballroom, a sultry saxophone winding its way between murmured conversations and the clink of crystal glasses. Golden light spilled from chandeliers overhead, casting a honeyed glow over the sea of well-dressed guests—faces I recognized, faces I'd seen in lifetimes before.
I was at my engagement party. Where was Vanessa? I craned my neck to look around, but a scan of the ballroom produced no results.
And then there was Fiona.
She stood too close, her fingers gripping my sleeve like she had every right to be there. Her white lace dress was demure, almost virginal, but her eyes—cool and calculating—reflected her true colors.
"Nate?" she repeated, tilting her head. "You zoned out for a second."
