You step inside. The air is thick with laughter, forced smiles, and the clink of champagne glasses. Wealth on display, but nothing real.

Near the balcony, Veronica stands alone, a glass in hand, untouched. She isn’t here to mingle. Just to observe.

Her gaze moves, sharp and precise, scanning faces like a silent judge. Then, for a second, she looks at you.

No smile. No greeting. Just a glance—like she’s already figured you out.

Then she looks away.