THE LIGHTS FROM THE CHANDELIERS GLIMMERED ABOVE MY party guests, illuminating every whispered secret and haute couture gown. Plopping one more caviar-spread cracker into my mouth, I turned to survey the glamor. Every student at Scarsdale Country Day milled around my home. Elaborate satin and chiffon dresses in intoxicating colors grazed the polished floors while their tux counterparts were smoothed to perfection.

I'd made it clear in the invites that anyone dressed less than perfect wouldn't be allowed in. From all the beauty surrounding me, it was clear my influence hadn't faltered over the summer. Thank God for that. It was always a hassle to remind my peers who was in charge around here when their minds were so mutable, ready to change their opinions and support with the shift of the tide. But with everyone already following my lead, tonight's fourth and final Return to Scarsdale Soirée was destined to go well.

It had to. Or else.

The serpent-green satin of my custom Vivienne Westwood gown moved with the shape of my legs as I headed into the thick of the party, the crowd parting to let me through. Anyone worthy enough to get an invite to a Nicastro event knew better than to stand in our way.

"Look at them, lapping it all up," I said, sliding next to my older sister, Amelia. She stood alone by the grand piano, as the pianist played Primavera by Ludovico Einaudi. “And you said the extra food stations and aerial performers would be too much."

As per tradition, the first half of the party was when everyone floated around the room indulging in the caviar or oyster stations and taking pictures by the custom floral installations. The second half was when the DJ arrived and phones were locked away so the next round of fun could begin.

Amelia sipped her champagne, each bubble like a perfect diamond to enjoy. Her warm caramel-brown curls fell down her shoulders, accentuating the lavender purple in her Chloé dress and soft beige skin. We both inherited most of our looks from our father, but only I got his midnight-black hair and "excitable temperament" as our mother used to put it before she packed only a carry-on to Milan and never returned.

Please. I wore my bitch badge with pride. There was nothing excitable about it.

"I never doubted you'd make this a showstopper of a party," Amelia replied. "I'm only surprised Dad let you blow the budget more than last year."

I shrugged, grabbing a glass of the Dom Perignon being passed around.

"He knows how necessary my soirée is for the school year." My sister delicately laughed. "Please, Tasha. It's because he'd do anything for you."

I smiled in return and found my gaze wandering out of our oversize living room to the closed office door down the hall. Our father wasn't in his personal office right now-he made a point of going down to our Upper East Side penthouse tonight-but his presence still hovered throughout the wings of our home and really, anywhere else he went. We might rule over this town and all of Westchester as a family, but it was my father who wore the crown. The adoration and respect I got from my Scarsdale Country Day classmates was child's play compared to the level he received from every person he met.

I nudged her in the side. "You make it sound like I'm the only one."

Amelia sighed, then opened her mouth again to say something else when the doorbell chimed through the rooms. Her attention caught on the sound immediately, because only one person in our circle rang the bell.

"What's Julian doing here?" I couldn't help but scrunch my face up.