Serenity
The charity ball was one of those events where the air always felt like it was thick with pretense. The ballroom gleamed under the glow of crystal chandeliers, the polished floors reflecting the perfectly-dressed people who seemed to glide across the room, not walk. It was all orchestrated—every smile, every handshake, every perfect placement of a glass of champagne in a well-manicured hand.
I should have been used to it by now. I had been to enough of these events to know the drill—the same faces, the same pleasantries, the same endless talk about donations and good causes that never felt as good as they should have. But tonight was different. Tonight, it felt heavier. I could feel the weight of it, the expectations, pressing down on me.
I was supposed to smile through it all.
