-POV Derby
The Grand Ballroom’s golden warmth vanished, replaced by an artificial glare that felt less like illumination and more like a targeted interrogation. I remained frozen near the velvet perimeter of the VIP table, the stem of my champagne glass clamped between fingers that had gone entirely numb. Around me, the orchestra rolled seamlessly into a sweeping, traditional waltz, guiding dozens of old-money couples across the polished mahogany floor in flawless, rhythmic geometry.
Tamara had smoothly dissolved into the crowd after her string of impeccable introductions, abandoning me in the center of the arena with nothing but the suffocating weight of a hundred watching eyes and the lingering ghost of her vacant smile.
*I shouldn't be here.*
The realization didn't hit me all at onc
