12

12

ANNALISE

My stomach churned like a washing machine on high spin. Sleep was a distant dream, the events of the previous night replaying on a loop in my mind. Adrian’s accusations, initially dismissed as paranoia fueled by punch and party lights, now flickered with unsettling possibility. Anne’s overly sweet perfume, her persistent hovering near me with that damn wine glass – it all felt a little too…convenient.

The first sliver of dawn peeked through the curtains, painting the room in a soft, mocking light. I tossed off the covers with a sigh, the decision solidifying in my gut. Answers. I needed them, and Anne was the only one with a key.

I found her ensconced in our usual breakfast nook, a picture of serenity with a steaming cup of tea cradled in her perfectly manicured hands. Her blonde hair, usually a cascade of effortless waves, was pulled into a tight bun today, mirroring the steely glint in her eyes.

“Anne,” I announced, my voice betraying none of the turmoil within. “We need