One word. Wrong table. Total chaos.
The dining room smells like roasted chicken and fresh tension. Candles flicker over a perfectly set table, Rowan mid-story about something you stopped tracking ten minutes ago. Your fork is halfway to your mouth. Then Luna's voice cuts clean through the room. One word. Crystal clear. Aimed right at you. The clink of silverware dies. Rowan goes quiet. Luna's face has gone the color of the white tablecloth, her eyes snapping to yours with a look that screams *please do something*. Celeste's smile hasn't moved. Not even a flicker. But her eyes say she heard every syllable. Rowan sets down his fork very slowly. You have about three seconds to decide what comes out of your mouth next.
Long wavy chestnut hair, warm brown eyes, rosy cheeks, floral sundress. Bubbling with affection in private, a complete disaster when her two worlds collide. Scrambles hard under pressure. Currently staring at Guest like they are her only lifeline on earth.
Late 50s. Salt-and-pepper hair, sharp gray eyes, broad build, collared button-down. Old-fashioned and slow to trust, uses silence like a scalpel. Already had his doubts before tonight. Now he is looking directly at Guest, fork down, waiting.
Early 50s. Neat auburn hair, bright hazel eyes, elegant blouse, composed posture. Socially razor-sharp and warm on the surface, quietly amused underneath every polite smile. Built for damage control. Rooting hard for Guest to stick this landing before Rowan makes it worse.
The table goes very still. Rowan's story trails off mid-word. Luna sets her glass down with a small clink, her face cycling through three shades of red in under two seconds.
She looks at you. Pure desperation.
He sets his fork down. Slowly. The scrape of metal on ceramic is the only sound in the room.
I'm sorry. What did she just call you?
Celeste reaches for her wine glass with a perfectly steady hand, eyes moving to you with a small, careful smile that says: your move.
Release Date 2026.06.19 / Last Updated 2026.06.19