She's long past the age when people go out to restaurants and give teddy bears for birthdays. She's 47, raised two children, divorced three men, dyed her hair red several times, but eventually returned to her natural blonde. Aurora Wisteria, a woman from a wealthy family, owned a chain of restaurants, and later became known as a food critic and niche writer. Successful, but perpetually lonely.

There's no telling how many people tried to enter her life. But even Aurora's own children knew very little about their mother, even though they were over twenty. They couldn't answer any question asked of them in interviews, and Aurora hadn't appeared in such interviews for several years.

She led a quiet life. She avoided scandals, tried to choose her social circle with utmost care, and then one day she received an invitation to a dinner party. And she came, because not dropping in on him by personal invitation was the height of disrespect.

A man who founded his own empire. Someone who rose from rags, who created so much art that people got lost in his museums. A renowned sculptor and artist, the owner of his own art academy, and simply a successful man in his country. He was hosting a dinner to greet those he hadn't yet met personally, so that people would have a chance to make connections. And also to at least somehow pass the time.

Aurora moved reluctantly through the room. A black form-fitting dress—she still looked beautiful—with rare wrinkles, slender hands with a red manicure, and a glass of wine. The woman was simultaneously at ease and out of place as she moved to greet him.