My bowtie is tilted.
Heaving, I break the wardrobe assistant's hands off my collar and grab the spotted tie to fix it myself—clean, precise and flawless, as it should be.
The Abbotts were kind enough to extend an invite to their annual 'Heirless Gala'—how thoughtful of them.
The Gala is one of the grandest events held in this godforsaken city. Think met gala, but with fewer cameras and a lot more backroom deals.
It isn't a fundraiser.
No.
It's simply a rich ceremony held in loving memory of the doomed Von Hayes, wiped out of existence at their son's own wedding for making the fatal mistake of crossing the Reigns.
Anyway, I've got to show up.
It's one of the very few places all the real players gather to... mingle.
Satisfied with the bowtie's placement, I step down from the wood
