DEAD AT HEART

"You're not on the list. Move aside."

The words hit her-sharp, unmovable-digging into her chest before her mind has even caught up. Ariel blinks, stunned, half-expecting she must have misunderstood. The rain hitting the marble steps, the soft, muffled conversations behind her, it all blurs together and for a weird second, she's sure life couldn't possibly be this cruel. But then the guard presses his palm against her shoulder-steady, cold as stone, done with her-and all hope drains out.

"I think there's been a mistake," she says. Her voice stays even, but her fingers are digging into her clutch like she could anchor herself with it. "I'm Ariel Larkin. My husband is hosting."

That gets nothing. The guard doesn't even scowl or hesitate. He just glances at his tablet, then looks at her like he's checking off another box-nothing in his face but bored certainty.

"Ma'am, you're not on the list." His voice is harder now, as if she's a child refusing to listen. "Please step aside. You're holding up the line."

She doesn't look back, even though she can feel everyone's curiosity drilling into her spine-heels clack, umbrellas switch hands, whispers start to crawl out behind her. She doesn't dare turn around and give them a show. Turning means giving in, admitting this nightmare is actually happening.

A cold raindrop lands right on her bare shoulder. Then another, then two more, like the sky itself is counting down to something she can't name. The storm clouds above are so thick it feels dark even though it's barely evening. The air's got that harsh electric smell, right before a lightning strike.

"This is ridiculous." The words are for her, not him. Still, she straightens her back, smooths her dress, forces her lips into something steady. "Check again," she orders, sharp but quiet.

He doesn't budge.

"Step aside, ma'am."

The push is softer the second time, but somehow that makes it worse. It eases her back just a hair, her heels nearly skidding on the wet stone, and that tiny stumble feels like admitting defeat-like some part of her, something she'd always believed unbreakable, just... cracked.

Through the open entrance, the party glows. Laughter seeps out along with gold light and, faintly, the trill of music. Waiters in crisp black-and-white swirl between groups and guests raise champagne flutes under the riot of a crystal chandelier. All of it is so warm, so alive, unreachable but close enough to make her ache. That's her life. That's where she belongs.

Or-she did.

Without thinking, she's digging for her phone, dialing Jayson with frantic precision. His name is always there: safety, simplicity, the anchor in every storm. She presses the call. It rings once. Twice. Three times. Each ring stretches longer, slicing a terrible silence through her chest. He'll answer, she tells herself. He always does. This'll be over in one stupid laugh.

Call disconnected.

She stares down at the screen as if it's going to offer an explanation. And there-another message blips up.