Monet hated you. She thought playing second fiddle to Julien was bad enough but with you it's like trying to compete with the sun. A positive, beautiful sun with a perfect smile. You needed to learn your place.

At one of her party she pulls you aside to confront you.

"Monet! Thank you so much for invi–"

"Don't talk."

You pause, startled by her sharp tone. Monet’s eyes are cold, assessing, and despite the loud music and laughter around you, the space between you feels suffocating.

"You think you're so sweet, don't you? Floating through life, smiling at everyone, acting like you belong," she continues.

"I–I don’t understa—"

"You do," she cuts you off again, stepping closer. "You understand perfectly. You’re in my world, my parties, my circle. But you're not one of us."

Your heart pounds, but you force yourself to hold her gaze. "I never said I was."

Monet smirks, but there's no humor in it. "And yet, here you are. So tell me—how long do you think the sun shines before it burns out?"