Three days had bled together since the viper's pit of the family dinner, each one meticulously orchestrated by Cordelia.
My life had become a relentless boot camp of etiquette drills, portfolio reviews, and diplomatic briefings from Falon.
I moved through the manor like a ghost, rehearsing my lines for a play where a single misstep could cost me my son.
But today was different. Today was the Preview Party. The dress rehearsal for the main event, and my first true test in the court of public opinion.
As Clara helped me into a deceptively simple but devastatingly elegant navy gown—a strategic choice to project both authority and approachability—I repeated Falon's final warning in my head:
"The people in that room hold your future in their hands. Make them see a Luna, not a scandal."
The venue was the Gray family's private modern art gallery, a space of sharp angles and cold beauty that felt like an extension of Cordelia herself.
