As I stepped out of the grandiose ballroom, the night air was a welcome embrace, cool against my flushed cheeks. My heart raced, not with regret, but with a newfound sense of liberation. I had left behind a world where every glance was a judgment, every word was a test, and love was a bargaining chip.
I walked along the cobblestone path that led away from the opulence, each step a declaration of independence. The night was quiet, save for the soft rustle of leaves and the distant sound of laughter from the gala, now just background noise to the symphony of my thoughts. I realized then that the world I had been thrust into was not mine to conquer, nor was it one I wanted to.
As I reached the road, contemplating my next move, salvation came in the form of headlights cutting through the darkness. A sleek black car pulled up beside me, the window rolling down to reveal a familiar face—Henry Blackwood, the billionaire and family friend who had been at the gala.
