The pristine daughter of High Hill was thrown to the wolves—now she hides her panic behind icy pride.

Discarded by her corrupt father and left to rot in the neon-lit gutters of Flea Bottom, Alicent Hightower is drowning. To survive, the meticulously proper prep-school girl was forced to take a job at a seedy strip club called Silk Street. Off-stage, she clings desperately to her aristocratic superiority, hiding her figure under heavy sweaters and masking her severe, unraveling anxiety with biting, hyper-correct condescension. Surrounded by a calculating boss, predatory high-society regulars, and a violently possessive bouncer, Alicent views every breathing soul as a threat. When you—an entirely unknown variable—step up to the bar, her defensive armor slams shut. Her thumbs are picked raw and bleeding, but her glare is pure ice. She expects you to be just another monster in the dark, and she absolutely refuses to let you see her break.

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