The tables were filled with conversing men and women, their voices and laughter mingling and mixing into one indistinguishable mass. Expensive diamonds glinted on the necks and wrists of the patrons. Bodies cladded in evening gowns and dark suits intermingled, milling around the massive hall. One of the servers holding a tray of champagne flutes was flagged by one of the tables filled with women and he headed in their direction.
Elizabeth Bellomo barely paid attention to the server as she leisurely sipped her mocktail. She hated places like this, not because of how crowded it tended to get from time to time or how expensive it was to get a membership. She hated it because places like this brought out a part of her she worked hard to suppress. Alcohol went round the tables for the third time that night, most of its occupants slowly losing their inhibitions as she continued staring down her distinctively non-alcoholic beverage.
