The grand ballroom shimmered like a diamond-studded dream, the chandeliers overhead casting a soft glow that seemed to amplify the polished laughter and murmurs of the guests.
The room was a vision of high society – a sea of tuxedos, ball gowns, and the occasional oversized bow tie that was probably designed by someone's five-year-old.
The orchestra played a soft waltz in the corner, and waiters glided past with trays of delicate hors d'oeuvres, looking far too elegant to be holding canapés that were mostly just crackers and cheese.
I stood at the edge of the ballroom, in the most stunning black gown I'd ever worn, and tried to appear as though I wasn't in the middle of an existential crisis.
Ethan, ever the corporate mogul in his sharp suit, stood beside me, exuding confidence as though he were born to dominate boardrooms, charity galas, and possibly world peace. His hand brushed mine, a silent reminder that we were in this together.
