ARIELLE
The Art Museum basked in the bright afternoon sun, its cream-colored marble gleaming almost blindingly pristine against the lush greenery that surrounded it.
I carefully took the invitation from my purse and handed it to the doorman, offering a polite smile as he opened the door and wished me "good bidding."
The moment I stepped into the bidding hall, a vibrant hum enveloped me – the rhythmic clicking of heels against polished marble, the melodic murmur of conversations weaving together in a symphony of refinement.
And then, without warning, anxiety washed over me again. Memories from my past life surged through my mind like water rushing through a broken dam.
Back then, I had despised being alone among those high-class vultures. Older, sharper, and crueler, they delighted in picking apart my flaws as though I were one of the auctioned pieces on display.
And it seemed today would be no different.
