Music pulsed across the rooftop that night, echoing through the glittering skyline. Laughter mingled with the sound of clinking champagne glasses, and the air smelled of wealth — perfume, cigars, and expensive celebration.

It was one of those high-society parties where money spoke louder than kindness, and status meant everything. Among the designer gowns and tailored suits moved a single young woman who didn’t belong there — at least, not in the way the others did.

Ezoic
Her name was Emily Harris, and she was working the event as a waitress.