The grand ballroom of the Fairmont Hotel in San Francisco glowed under the light of hundreds of crystal chandeliers, the soft strains of a live orchestra bathing the air with classical elegance. It was everything Sylvia expected—glamorous, ostentatious, and crawling with people who thought they ruled the world.
She adjusted the hem of her midnight-blue gown, its sleek silhouette accentuating her every move. The tinted glasses perched on her nose and the soft waves of her styled hair framed her face perfectly. Beside her, Luciana—now Clara Salazar—looked effortlessly poised in a wine-red dress, her expression one of casual amusement.
“You’re staring too much,” Luciana whispered, her voice seeming to tease.
Sylvia smirked. “Just taking it all in.”
“Sure. Keep your cool, Maria,” Luciana a
