Met Gala invitations arrived at the house while I was reviewing the dossiers on eligible young heirs and up-and-coming tycoons that my butler had compiled for me.
On the night of the gala, I chose an evening gown that was neither flashy nor understated, and pinned my hair up with meticulous care.
I could feel the laughter and chatter around me, the way people's gazes lingered on me. Many were exchanging knowing glances, and the subject of their unspoken conversation, no doubt, was me—the Winslows' true-born daughter.
My eyes eventually drifted to a corner of the room, to a spot that was almost deliberately overlooked.
A young man sat there alone.
He kept to himself, speaking to no one and no one approaching him—a stark contrast to the lively bustle surrounding him.
Theodore Harringto
