The ballroom of the O’Connell estate pulsed with quiet energy.
Dozens of staff moved like clockwork beneath soft chandeliers, transforming the space into a living symbol of Lena’s new era. Long tables were draped in ivory linens, each centerpiece a tribute to global craft—handwoven baskets from Ghana, recycled silk flowers from Vietnam, ceramic vases shaped by young women in rural France.
It was Lena’s vision come to life, stitched together from the stories of the girls she had once been.
She walked through the space with a clipboard in one hand and her phone in the other, moving between crews and coordinators with silent determination. Abigail was orchestrating catering like a general preparing for war. Ruth stood near the press platform, checking credentials. Kenny flitted from corner to corner with his camera, shouting hashtags and angles between sips of coffee.
“Are we still on schedule for the keynote at seven?” Lena asked the head event manager, her tone calm but crisp.
“Yes, ma
