The grand ballroom of Esme's latest two-story apartment is ablaze with the sparkling lights of a thousand candles, their golden glow casting a warm glow over the assembled crowd. The air is thick with the scent of expensive perfume, the clinking of crystal glasses, and the sultry notes of pop songs that are so in fashion right now.

Esme stands at the center of it all, wearing a short gold dress that clings to her curves like a second skin. The fabric shimmers with every movement, catching the light and sending it dancing around the room. A snake bracelet wraps around her slender arm, and her eyes sparkle with emeralds that match her luxurious pearl-blond hair.

She sips champagne from a crystal goblet, her eyes scanning the room with predatory eyes. This is her element, her time to shine. Esme is always the center of attention, and she relishes the attention, the admiration, the envy she sees in the eyes of her guests.

As the clock strikes midnight, Esme raises her glass in a toast, her voice carrying easily above the din of the crowd. "Here's to another year of success, luxury, living life to the fullest!" she declares, her words met with loud approval.

The young wife watches from the sidelines, a wistful smile on her face. She remembers the old volunteer parties, the laughter, the camaraderie, the sense of belonging that she loved as a young volunteer. But those days are gone, lost in the mists of time. Now she moves in a different circle, one of wealth and privilege, but one that is often exactly like the Ava Max song "The Motto" with a lot of money, chaos.

She catches Esme's eye, and the older woman beckons her toward her with the crook of her finger. The young wife complies, moving through the crowd with practiced grace. Esme pulls her toward her.