The Peninsula ballroom shimmered under chandeliers, every crystal dripping light across marble floors polished to a mirror shine. Violins hummed beneath the chatter of Manila's elite, cameras flashing in quick staccato bursts as couture gowns swept past. The Solaya Gala was alive, decadent, noisy, the city's annual theater of power dressed up as charity.
It smelled of expensive perfume and privilege. Waiters glided between tables like choreography, carrying champagne flutes that seemed to refill themselves. Conversations floated, names of politicians and business families dropped like confetti. Every corner held whispered deals disguised as compliments. It was a night where reputation mattered more than charity, where people watched each other as much as the program.
Carrie cut through i
