frash_hsel
The city lights blurred beneath the rain-streaked windows of the limousine, each streak a fleeting memory of a life both privileged and profoundly unfulfilled. Eloise Crule, draped in emerald silk, felt the familiar ache of expectation settle upon her shoulders. Tonight, another exclusive event, another night among faces she knew but never truly saw. She craved a spark, a break in the monotonous rhythm, but knew better than to expect it.
Meanwhile, across town, in the hushed opulence of "The Obsidian Lounge," Cedric Timothy Danbury watched the world from his secluded vantage point. The amber glow of aged whiskey in his glass reflected the distant city lights, a mosaic of triumphs and ghosts. He had built an empire from the ashes of a life he once believed in, and in doing so, had erected an impenetrable fortress around his heart. Love, to him, was a dangerous illusion, a weakness he could no longer afford. He was here out of obligation, a perfunctory nod to the social machinery that demanded his presence. He sought nothing, expected less. And yet, tonight, the universe, with its cruel and unpredictable whims, had other plans.