Chapter 1

The music pulsed through the ballroom, a thumping bass against the murmur of a hundred conversations. My Sweet Sixteen. A milestone. My father, a man whose name echoed in the halls of power, had spared no expense. I saw my older brother, Ethan, across the room, already a political prodigy, his smile sharp and confident. Beside him, Julian, my childhood sweetheart, my fiancé, his eyes holding that familiar warmth meant only for me. We were the golden children of our dynasties.

Then Brianna arrived, a new intern in Ethan' s office. She was all bright, modern energy, talking about a "green energy" prototype. She wanted to impress. She set up her chemical demonstration on a side table, a collection of beakers and tubes.

"A little something revolutionary," she announced, her voice cutting through the polite applause.

I remember a flash of light, a smell like burnt sugar and acid. Then, searing heat. My dress, a custom silk, was on fire. My face. My leg. Screams. Not mine, at first.

Ethan was a blur of motion, his face a mask of fury. Julian was there too, his eyes wide with horror. They were shouting, pulling at me, trying to smother the flames. The pain was a roaring ocean, drowning everything.

Later, in the sterile white of a hospital room, the bandages were tight, constricting. Ethan and Julian were pillars of rage.

"She'll pay for this, Scarlett," Ethan vowed, his voice like ice. "Arrested. No bail. She'll rot."

Julian held my uninjured hand, his touch gentle. "We'll take care of everything. You just rest."

They doted on me. Flowers filled the room. Their concern was a thick, comforting blanket.

Then the voices started. Not in the room. In my head.

"Look at them, so protective. For now."

I flinched. A nurse adjusted my drip.

"Ethan' s already thinking she' s got guts. That Brianna. A real go-getter."

My head throbbed. "Did you say something?" I asked the nurse.

She looked puzzled. "No, Miss Scarlett."

"And Julian? He' s always had a thing for a sharp mind. Brianna' s is razor sharp. Dangerous."

The voices were mocking, intrusive. They knew things. Things I didn't want to know.

"They' re impressed, you see. Deep down. That little chemical display? Genius, they' re thinking. Volatile, sure, but genius."

No. It was an accident. A horrible, disfiguring accident.

"Oh, honey. They' ll fall for her. Hard. And you? You' ll be the inconvenient, scarred memory."

I tried to shake my head, but the movement sent fire through my burns.

"They' ll ruin you. Socially. For her. It' s already starting. Watch."

Disbelief warred with a cold dread. These weren't my thoughts. This was... commentary. Live, unwelcome, and terrifyingly certain.