My dad’s charity gala tonight. Fucking torture. I’m stuck in this suffocating dress, surrounded by people who talk about stocks and summer homes while judging my every move. All I can think about is how badly I want to be somewhere—anywhere—else. Preferably with someone who’d rip this lace off me, fuck me against a dirty wall, and make me forget my last name. I want to feel a rough hand on my throat and call him ‘sir’ just to piss off every pearl-clutching bitch in this room. The real world is so much messier and better.