The murmurs in the grand hall suddenly shifted, rippling like a wave of anticipation. Heads began to turn toward the entrance as the Sawyer family's highest ranking figures made their entrance.
The Sawyer family matriarch, regal as ever in her old age, silver hair swept into a perfect chignon, her presence radiating authority, glided into the room in a deep emerald gown. Flanking her was Victor Sawyer, tall and broad shouldered in a perfectly tailored midnight blue suit, his expression was calm yet intimidating. At his side walked his adoptive son, Vikram, a sharply dressed young man with slicked back hair and a smile that manged to look charming and calculating all at once.
The energy in the room shifted instantly. The crowd of elites, dressed in shimmering fabrics and dripping with jewelry, instinctively drifted toward the newcomers like moths to a flame, eager to offer their greetings.
