The grand ballroom of the Manhattan Regal was decked out in glittering extravagance for the highly anticipated gala, the unofficial centerpiece of the matchmaking convention. Towering floral arrangements adorned each table, golden chandeliers dripped crystals from above, and a live string quartet played soft, elegant music that somehow managed to feel both classy and pretentious. Guests mingled in designer suits and couture gowns, sipping champagne and exchanging pleasantries.
Ava stood near the refreshment table, feeling slightly out of place despite the stunning emerald-green dress Mei had insisted she wear. Ryan was beside her, nursing a glass of whiskey and leaning against the table with his usual nonchalance. He looked annoyingly comfortable, as always, while Ava felt like she might spontaneously combust from the sheer pressure of the evening.
