I reached the door of the AV booth at the end of the upper corridor.

It was unlocked, just as Grace had predicted.

I stepped inside, closing the heavy acoustic door softly behind me.

The room was dark, lit only by the blue and green glow of several computer monitors.

Below me, through the tilted glass window, the entire ballroom of Aster Hall was visible.

The crystal chandeliers cast a brilliant, warm light over the hundreds of guests in tuxedos and evening gowns.

Harrison stood at the center of the stage, holding a silver microphone.

He looked handsome, confident, and entirely in control of my family’s legacy.

Sloane stood just behind him, wearing a dark green silk dress that replaced the ruined Celestia gown.

Beatrice sat in the front row, her posture rigid, her diamonds gleaming under the stage lights.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Harrison’s voice boomed through the high-fidelity speakers in the booth.

“Welcome to the annual Bennett Trust Charity Gala.”

The crowd applauded warmly, the sound rising up to my window.

“Tonight, we celebrate not just the history of Aster Hall, but its future,” Harrison continued.