The ballroom glittered like something from a dream.
Chandeliers hung from ceilings too high to count. Crystal. Gold. Light bouncing off every surface.
People in expensive clothes. Jewelry that cost more than houses. Champagne flowing. Cameras flashing.
The Black Global Charity Ball.
Everyone who mattered was there. Old money. New money. Power dressed in silk and diamonds.
The Callahans. The Blakes. The Sullivans. Names that built cities. Families that controlled industries.
And everyone wanted the same thing. To see him. The ghost. The mystery.
The man who owned Black Global.
Whispers filled the air like smoke. Thick. Constant.
"Do you think he'll actually show?"
"I heard he's never appeared in public."
"Some say he's older. A recluse."
"Maybe foreign.
