The charity luncheon at the Bellamy Conservatory had been made to look easy. Every detail spoke of controlled elegance, not extravagance. White floral arrangements decorated the long dining tables beneath the glass ceiling. Soft instrumental music drifted in the room but did not drown out conversation. Staff members moved carefully between guests, maintaining the polished rhythm expected from events attended by political figures, investors, foundation directors, and the upper social circles connected to them.
Nothing about the setting encouraged conflict; that was precisely why Evelyn chose it.
By the time Seraphina arrived, the room had already settled into familiar patterns. Conversations moved quietly between clusters of guests, and every interaction carried layers beneath its surface. People in these circles rarely spoke directly when indirect methods worked better.
