The grand ballroom of the Palais von Strahoven shimmered under the gleaming chandeliers, casting the space in a golden glow. The wealthy elite of Vienna mingled in their finest attire, exchanging pleasantries and basking in the extravagance of the charity gala. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume, and the sound of laughter mingled with the faint hum of a string quartet playing softly in the background. It was a night meant to celebrate generosity and social grace, but for Julian Blackwood, it felt like the calm before the storm.
He stood by the bar, a glass of expensive Scotch in hand, his green eyes scanning the crowd with an air of detachment. He had done this before—attended these high-profile events where reputation and status mattered more than anything. But tonight
