Gwen
The grand hall glowed like something out of a fever dream. Crystal chandeliers dripped golden light over hundreds of guests, their jewels flashing every time they moved.
Music swelled from the orchestra in the gallery, laughter rose and fell like waves, and the air was thick with the scent of roasted meats, expensive perfume, and spilled champagne.
Father’s birthday was always like this— an extravagant reminder of his power. Everyone smiled tonight. Everyone except me, perhaps.
I stood with Sophia and Isabella near one of the tall marble pillars, a glass of chilled wine already warming in my fingers. They were both in gowns that probably cost more than most people’s yearly salaries.
Sophia was in deep emerald, Isabella in blood-red silk that made her look dangerously beautiful.
