"Dead sissy?"
The phrase hung in the air, suspended in the sudden, absolute silence of the ballroom. It was a profane graffito sprayed across a masterpiece painting.
He called Ethan Wolfe... a dead sissy?
And he called the fans... brainless?
Jack Brooks’s disdainful comments were like a lit match tossed into a warehouse filled with gasoline. The atmosphere in the Northriver International Hotel didn't just shift; it detonated. The adoration and glamour instantly evaporated, replaced by a wave of homicidal rage so palpable it felt like physical heat.
"What the f*ck..."
A young man in a bespoke tuxedo stepped forward, his face flushed a deep, ugly red. He pointed a trembling finger at Jack.
"Who is this guy? Who let him in? Why is he wearing cargo shorts to a black-tie event?"
"I saw
