Terms and Conditions

The first Glimpse

The Diamond Tower stood like a jagged shard of moonlight in the center of the skyline — all sharp lines and gleaming glass, reaching for the stars as if it had a right to them. It didn't just dominate the city. It haunted it. People whispered about the things that happened behind those gold-tinted windows. Deals. Scandals. Miracles.

And tonight, Emily Fields was walking through its front doors.

She stepped out of the cab slowly, her heels clicking softly against the marble steps. Her breath fogged faintly in the cool night air, nerves dancing along her skin like static. The invitation sat tucked in her clutch like a secret she still hadn't fully agreed to keep.

She hadn't told Hanna. Or Aria. Or anyone.

Maybe she was scared they'd talk her out of it. Maybe she was scared they wouldn't.

The doorman didn't ask her name. He just opened the grand glass doors, nodding as if he already knew who she was. Inside, the air changed. It was warmer, heavy with notes of jasmine and expensive perfume, lit by a golden chandelier that looked like a thousand falling stars frozen in place.

And the people — God. The people.

They shimmered.

Draped in silk and tailored suits, diamonds resting like afterthoughts against collarbones. Laughter echoed like music. Waiters floated past with silver trays of champagne. A woman in a silver gown whispered something to a man in a tux, eyes sharp and lips cruel.

Emily felt like an intruder. Like a story someone had left unfinished in a library of bestsellers.

But she kept walking.

The elevator was private, velvet walls, soft lights, a man in white gloves who didn't say a word as he pressed the top floor. She caught her reflection in the brass finish: composed on the outside, unraveling inside.

The doors opened to silence.

And then — music. Soft, classical. A string quartet in the corner played as if they were part of the architecture, not people at all. The ballroom stretched wide and gold, walls lined with black-veined marble, ceilings painted with constellations.

This wasn't a gala.
It was a cathedral of wealth.
A prayer to power.

She stepped inside carefully, scanning the room for a familiar face, but there were none. Just models, moguls, maybe an actor or two. Her eyes caught on a group of people in a raised alcove, laughing behind half-masks, like royalty playing pretend.

And then, the air shifted.

It was subtle. The way silence gathers before a storm. The way animals sense something before it strikes.

Emily didn't see her at first.
She felt her.

A ripple in the atmosphere. Heads turned. Voices dropped.

Alison DiLaurentis had arrived.

She wasn't flashy. No guards, no announcement. Just a woman in a midnight-blue dress, all clean lines and minimal jewels, walking like she owned gravity. Her heels didn't make a sound. Her gaze cut through the crowd without apology.

And for a second, just one second, she looked right at Emily.

It was almost imperceptible. A glance. A pause. A flicker of something unreadable.
But it landed.

Emily's chest tightened.

Alison turned away just as quickly, pulled gently into conversation by a man with sharp cheekbones and a thousand-dollar smile. But the damage had been done.