FREYA'S POVThe golden hour had just passed, leaving behind a soft, honeyed glow that filtered through the expansive glass walls of the banquet hall. From my place near the entrance, I watched as the final touches were being placed—florists adjusting centerpieces, staff setting wine glasses at perfect angles, strings of lights humming softly above us like stars caught mid-breath.It was magical. The way everything shimmered with purpose. The elegance wasn’t ostentatious—it was intentional, dignified. Gerald Lefevre had spared no expense for tonight’s event, and it showed. Every detail was a reflection of legacy, wealth, and quiet power.I walked slowly along the edge of the room, admiring the crisp table linens and fresh hydrangeas. Candlelight flickered in ornate glass holders, adding a warmth to the otherwise formal atmosphere. The scent of roses and expensive perfume floated in the air, blending with the savory promise of whatever was cooking in the kitchens.“Taking it all in?” ca
Last Updated : 2025-06-22
