Sara Ikari Rodriguez
The Rodriguez dinner party wasn’t just an event—it was a performance, a declaration, a carefully constructed spectacle of legacy and power.
But for once, I didn’t feel like I was drowning in it.
The ballroom was gold-lit and warm, strings of lights trailing from the vaulted ceiling like stars. Soft music floated in the
background, the scent of roses and fresh-cut herbs threading through the air.
I stood beside Matio, my hand resting on his forearm, not because anyone asked me to—
But because I wanted to.
For the first time, it didn’t feel like I was holding my breath.
It felt like I was breathing.
Maria had picked the dress herself—a deep forest green gown with a fitted waist and sheer sleeves, elegant but not too loud. I’d
never worn anything like it. I fe
