My Best Friend's Uncle....And My Baby Daddy.

I stared at the intricate designs of the soaring ceilings, my eyes tracing the gold leaf molding until they hit the massive crystal chandelier that anchored the foyer of the Kingston estate. Every single inch of this place screamed luxury-the kind of old-money power that didn't just talk; it roared. It was a world I was never meant to be a part of, a world that had chewed me up and spat me out five years ago.

Standing here now, my cheap heels clicking against the polished marble, I felt like an inkblot on a white silk sheet. Out of place.

When the digital invite had first hit my inbox, I was shell-shocked. I hadn't expected to hear from the Kingstons ever again, let alone be invited to the inner sanctum of their family legacy.

You are hereby invited to the solemnization of Chloe Kingston and Alexander Hawthorne.

I had been dumbstruck, staring at the glowing screen of my cracked phone for hours. Chloe and I hadn't spoken since the night I fled London with a single suitcase and a secret growing inside me that terrified me to my core. My conscience was a heavy, rotting thing in my chest. I had abandoned my best friend without a word, and the guilt of that silence had finally driven me back. If it were up to me, I would have arrived in a clearance dress from Costco, something nondescript to help me blend into the shadows. But Chloe had caught wind of my arrival and wouldn't have it.

"Omg, you actually made it!"

A whirlwind of white silk and expensive perfume collided with me before I could even find the coat check. Chloe beamed, her joy so radiant it felt like a physical burn against my skin. She looked dazzling, her flowy gown making her look youthful and ethereal, like a princess in a kingdom I had betrayed.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, Loe," I said, the old nickname slipping out before I could stop it. My heart twisted. Who gave me the right to call her that? I was a fraud. I was the girl who had vanished, leaving her to wonder what she'd done wrong for half a decade.

"I hope you are enjoying yourself," she said, her fingers caressing my hand with genuine affection. I looked down at her manicured nails against my own bare ones. "I have really missed you, Tummy."

My stomach felt hot. That old nickname-Tummy-it felt like a brand. I felt like a monster standing in the middle of her happiness, carrying a secret that would shatter her world if it ever came to light.

"Your party is lovely, Chloe. Everything is so beautiful," I said, desperately trying to pivot the conversation away from my missing years. I had seen this estate in architecture magazines, segments dedicated to the "Crown Jewel of London," but standing in it was different. The air felt heavy, charged with a predatory energy, as if the walls themselves