Aderiyike Olayinminu was supposed to be starting over. After losing her job and returning to her parents' house with more shame than luggage, the last thing she needed was a wedding invitation from Ewatomi, her secondary school classmate and Lagos socialite, the kind of woman who made success look effortless. Everyone loved Ewatomi Olabiwonninu. Or at least, everyone pretended to. She had money, beauty, connections, and a way of looking at people that made them feel like problems she hadn't yet figured out how to solve. Riyi had to attend the wedding since her parents wanted her to break out of her isolation. But that Saturday morning, inside a packed event center bursting with aso-ebi lace, gele, jollof rice, talking drums, and guests spraying money like there's no tomorrow, someone finally decided they were done pretending. Ewatomi never made it to the reception. She was found murdered in cold blood in the dressing room. The problem was that everyone was in the hall. Everyone was accounted for. Nobody left. And yet, someone killed her. The groom looks guilty. The mother-in-law never bothered to hide her hatred. And the bridal train? Every single one of them is smiling a little too calmly for women who just lost their friend. Riyi has no badge, no plan, and no reason to get involved. She only has too much time on her hands, nothing left to lose, and a terrible feeling she can't shake: that the killer is standing close enough to touch her. Everybody has a motive. Nobody has an alibi. And the truth? No one will see it coming. Some invitations come with a price.