Party

They walked into the hall, now filled with Elites and members of the high-class society. You’d wonder how the girls managed to get in. Well, Evans Edwin had made the ball open to everyone this year.

“Nice man, huh?” Irene had said when Zee asked how they’d gotten an invitation to a place crowded with the high and mighty.

“And I pray Zee gets her biggest wish granted tonight,” Mia added.

As they stepped into the most talked-about part of the hotel—the Grand Floor—the girls were left speechless.

“Oh my God!” Zee gasped, trying to steady herself. “This is more beautiful than the pictures!”

The grand, palatial hall glittered with wealth. Huge chandeliers made of pure gold hung from the high ceiling, scattering light across marble floors. The walls gleamed, and the shimmering colors reflecting from the lights made the place look even more magnificent and otherworldly.

Zee’s gaze drifted from the chandeliers to the crowd. The women’s designer gowns shimmered under the lights, and the men’s tailored suits gleamed with quiet authority. For a second, she wished—wished she belonged here.

She caught herself and sighed, shaking off the thought. She needed to find Mia and Irene, who had already gotten lost in the beauty of the hall. Thanks to Evans Edwin, they were here tonight—but the place suddenly felt too big, too bright.

She started walking toward a group of Elites, her mouth slightly open in awe at the faces she recognized. But she stopped short. The surprise was dizzying. Realizing she was going the wrong way, she turned to head back—and crashed straight into someone.

Her eyes widened. Lee Min Shin. The award-winning singer.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Zee blurted. “It was a mistake.”

“No, it’s fine,” the lady replied, her eyes running from Zee’s head to her toes. “You’re not at fault here. I personally told Edwin not to let commoners into his party, but the man wouldn’t listen. He’s just… too generous.”

She gave Zee a sharp, condescending smile before walking away.

Zee stood frozen, humiliation burning her cheeks. Commoner. The word stung more than she wanted to admit. Fine, she wasn’t rich, but did the woman have to say it like that?

She glanced around, praying no one had heard. Then she turned toward the bar, desperate to disappear into a corner. Her heels wobbled with each step—she was never good with them—and her long gown dragged across the floor.

When she finally reached the bar, she lifted the hem of her dress and climbed onto a stool. She dropped her elbows onto the counter and buried her face in her palms.

“What would you like, miss?” the bartender asked, his voice gentle.

She wanted to say wine—something simple, harmless—but instead, she heard herself say, “Whiskey.”

Really, Zee? Whiskey? she thought. Then she shrugged the doubt away. Why not? Alcohol helps people forget their problems. That’s what they say.

“Here you go, miss,” the bartender said, sliding a glass toward her.

Zee studied the amber liquid. “You know what this drink is for?” she asked suddenly.

The man blinked. “Uh… drinking?”

She gave a small, sad smile. “No. I mean, do you know why I’m going to drink it?”

“I don’t,” he said, leaning in slightly.

“Want to know?” she asked.

“If you want to tell,” he replied, and she chuckled softly.

She looked down at the glass, then back up at him. “This first glass is to forget my jobless life. I’ve been out of school for years, applying everywhere—thousands of applications—and no one ever calls. So I stopped trying. Every day I wake up reminded that I’m unemployed.” She picked up the glass. “So… this one’s to forget about that for a few hours.”

She tipped the glass back and swallowed the whiskey in one gulp. Her face twisted immediately. “God, is this what alcohol tastes like?” she muttered. Still, she gestured for another.

“Another glass, please.”

The bartender refilled it.

“This second one,” she said, holding it up, “is to being a commoner. It hurts when people like her remind you where you belong.” She downed the drink, her eyes watering, and asked for another.

“Now this third glass,” she said, voice slurring slightly, “is to being the country’s poorest.” She winked and lifted it—but before she could drink, her head spun. She set the glass down quickly.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. “I feel… strange.”

“So soon?” the bartender asked, surprised.

“I have to go find my friends,” she said, forcing herself off the stool. She almost stumbled but caught herself. “Thanks for being a good listener,” she murmured, giving him a weak smile before walking away.