The night was filled with noises of the traffic, the occasional sound of a siren in the distance and the voice and hums of a million possibilities. Charlotte remained anonymous as she moved to the specific location that was running in her mind. He got this information from a friend who was going to a classy dinner where Alexander Stone was believed to have been invited to attend. Getting an invitation was the easy part. She had to maximize this experience now that she was sure she would get inside.
The sound was barely audible, but Charlotte could hear the tapping of her heels on the marble floor, as she made her way through the grand ballroom with a crowd of guests dressed formally. It was as if each step signaled an entrance to a new realm of opulence and indulgence, a realm that came as a stark contrast to the sphere that she moved in most of the time. Thus, it was a gala that annulled her normal senses, placing her in a world of opulence, somewhat like a dream world.
True to what she had seen, above her there were many crystal chandeliers that seemed to mimic the stars in the night heaven and illuminated the room with a heavenly warm light. There were intricate glass structures which looked like tiny prisms and when they generated light, they created amazing patterns on the walls and the floor of the room. The overwhelming bourgeoning of jasmine and other rich brands of perfumes filled the air, completed with the charming hum of classical music in the background.
Charlotte inspected the guests, who were dressed to the nines in outfits that must have cost a pretty penny. The men in black tuxedos, women in breathtaking gowns. Diamonds glistened on their necks and around their wrists, and she saw how the lights sparkled on them whenever they stirred. The ladies appeared as elegant as ladies of high class, bonding and laughing like the pure tones of a piano, while the men were flamboyant, displaying the demeanor of a powerful business community.
Of course, it did not take long for this young woman to get lost in the elegance of the upcoming gallant event but, deep in her soul, something like a faint cold shiver troubled her mind. There was frank tension behind the bows and polite chatter as if each guest had a skeleton hidden in a closet.
In her journey through the midst of the throng of people, Charlotte overheard fragments of the conversations that swelled around her. Murmurs about the mergers and acquisitions, promises of scandals and drama. As for the setting, it was very familiar to the realm seen in Borgia, which painted a picture of a corrupt world where power and influence were the key to success accompanied by numerous deceitful masks.
Charlotte fidgeted, staring wide-eyed at the great ballroom, her gaze darting through one group of party goers after another in her desperate quest to find Alexander Stone. It'd been quite a while since she made her way through the crowd, her movements were to the point, and thus appearing ordinary. Everything from the walk to the gaze was deliberate as she went through the motion to ensure she fitted in perfectly among the elite crowd.
She was in the midst of an elegant crowd, the sound of the silk, whispers accompanying her as she glided through the isle. She felt so alive; she could almost hear the ringing of the champagne flutes against each other, smell the awesome stench of scent, the electrifying humming of the room filled with evanescent. Well, she understood that the only way to get close to Stone and find out the truth about vicious rumors that enveloped him like a cloak of secrecy, was to get close. This gala was her unique chance, a unique chance to see him in first person, to judge his behavior in the company of his kind of people.
Throughout her journalism career, Charlotte always had the feeling of someone watching her all the time, a feeling that only increased as she mingled in the crowd. Paranoia is what was tingling at the back of her head, but she dismissed it out right to attend to the matter at hand. She had made all the necessary preparations an investigative journalist would make. She had her press ID in her clutch and the cover story had been well memorized.
She could feel the weight of his responsibility increasing with each passing moment; it weighed upon her like a great burden. It was not just another paper; this was her opportunity to expose the truth about one of the city's most influential and mysterious personalities. This was a high-stakes game for a journalist of her calliber, and she could not afford to fold back.