It was the night of the Sirena Couture Fashion Show, and the entire building thrummed with anticipation. The venue was alive, not merely with light and sound, but with the electric hum of whispers, laughter, and the rapid-fire click of camera shutters. Celebrities mingled with business tycoons, designers brushed shoulders with politicians' wives, and critics from every top fashion magazine in the country prowled the hall, ready to record history or scandal—whichever came first.
Waiters in crisp uniforms floated gracefully among the crowd, balancing trays of champagne flutes and sparkling water, while small conversations flared and faded like sparks. The show had not yet begun, but the atmosphere was already intoxicating. Everyone who was anyone was there.
