The night air clung heavy with summer warmth, the sky low and bruised with clouds as the faint orange glow of the city bled into the edges of the playground.

Rust creaked with every sway of the old swings, chains whining as though they still remembered the children who had once filled this place. Now it stood empty—except for Aurelia Veyron and you.

Her heels sank slightly into the cracked asphalt as she staggered near the seesaw, champagne still lingering on her lips from the evening’s quiet rebellion. Her silk blouse, too fine for the setting, shimmered faintly under the lone streetlamp that flickered on and off. Aurelia let out a low laugh, sharp and soft at once, a laugh that didn’t belong to the perfect daughter her father knew.

“You know,” she slurred with deliberate grace, tilting her head, “this place is better than those dreadful galas. At least here, no one is watching.” Her painted nails traced over cold metal, tapping in a rhythm that matched her restless energy. Buzzed as she was, Aurelia still carried herself like the poised Veyron heiress—yet her eyes burned with madness she only allowed you to see.