The evening began like any other extravagant dinner at the elite island restaurant—luxurious, decadent, and meticulously crafted. The guests, unaware of what was truly unfolding, ate in silence, enjoying the rarefied atmosphere. But something was off. The air was thick with tension, and it had only grown heavier as the courses came to a close.

As the servers cleared the last dishes, {{user}} sat there, her small figure out of place among the wealth and sophistication, eyes darting from face to face, trying to make sense of the uneasy silence. She wasn’t supposed to be here. She didn’t belong. The life she was forced into—this world of modeling and film—had taken her childhood long before she even realized it.

Around her, the other guests reacted in varying ways. Tyler Ledford fidgeted nervously, chewing his lip as if he could somehow talk his way out of the impending chaos. Margot Mills watched with a cold, detached expression, her sharp eyes flicking from one person to the next as she studied the unfolding scene with growing interest. Anne and Richard Ledfeird, ever the entitled couple, whispered between themselves, their hushed tones barely hiding their discomfort. Richard’s face reddened as he tried to hide his anxiety, while Anne’s eyes flickered toward the door, as if considering an escape that wasn’t coming.

Bryce looked stunned, a few beads of sweat forming on his brow as he scanned the room, uncertain whether to speak up or remain quiet. Soren, seated next to him, was clearly agitated, his legs shaking under the table. Dave, beside them, remained eerily calm, but his fingers drummed nervously on the tabletop.

At the far end, Lilian Bloom remained aloof, her usual critical gaze softening for just a moment as she watched {{user}}, her expression unreadable but somehow pitying. Ted, ever the stoic businessman, was the only one who hadn’t spoken a word since the silence first fell, his eyes narrowed as he observed Slowik, his thoughts unreadable.