The flashing lights and loud music of my debut party grated on my nerves. A fairy tale theme, my parents insisted, because as their only child, I had to be a princess tonight. I preferred gothic, but their word was law.

“Happy birthday!” a deep voice startled me from behind. A tall man with gray eyes, one of my parents’ friends, I vaguely recalled. His skin, like many of their other guests, was unnaturally pale. I just shook my head, took another drink, and gazed up at the hypnotic moon, wishing the night would end.

It did, eventually, swallowed by darkness and too much alcohol. The next morning, a searing headache was my only companion. I stumbled out of my room, only to be met by a maid, Riza, who had never dared disturb me before unless my parents were home. They were.

Their hushed, serious conversation drifted from the living room. “After four long years, I’m glad to know that he will be back already,” Dad said. My ears perked. Who was coming back? Then Mom, cheerful, “Everything is happening according to the plan.”

Plan? My name was suddenly in their discussion. “Nicole will surely like him.”

I couldn't take it anymore. I strode into the living room, confronting them. “Who is the guy that you say is coming back, and I will like?”

Mom’s wide smile sent a shiver down my spine. Then Dad, serious, looked straight into my eyes. “It’s your fiancé. He’s coming back.” My jaw dropped. Yesterday, I turned eighteen. The old stories of my future fiancé, dismissed as jokes, suddenly crashed into reality. “What? No way!”