The air of the Blackwood estate sparkled, heavy with the scent of night jasmine and the scents of expensive cosmetics. It was the kind of smell Caroline Jenkins associated with a life she only looked out the window. That night, she was on the other side of the window, but she felt more invisible than ever.
His black uniform was rigid and practical, offering a striking contrast to the river of silk and jewelry. It was the annual Sterling Gala, a night when the city’s elite gathered to self-congratulate with their generosity. For Caroline, it was just another eight-hour shift, an exhausting event she needed.
His thoughts drifted, as always, to his younger sister Anna, whose lungs did not function properly. Every wheezing was a clock that turned, and the medical bills were a mountain to climb. She therefore smiled mechanically, balancing trays loaded with champagne flutes worth more than her rent.
“Excuse me, miss!” A voice dripped with condescension, abruptly breaking the thread of his inner reflections. Caroline turned to Tiffany Vanderbilt, a local heiress whose face saturated the blogs of high society. She was beautiful in a sharp and brittle way, her diamond necklace refracting light in a thousand daggers.
Next to her stood her fiancé, Jeffrey Croft, whose face wore a mask of polite and distant boredom. “My champagne is warm,” Tiffany said without even looking at Caroline, as if she was talking to a defective piece of furniture. “Bring me a new one from an unopened bottle, and make sure it’s hit properly this time.”
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