The clock was ticking toward the annual family ball.
Within the estate, the atmosphere buzzed with controlled chaos. Servants moved like clockwork, carrying fresh bouquets, crystal glassware, and gleaming silver trays.
Seamstresses adjusted hems and stitched final embellishments onto extravagant gowns, while chefs debated the perfect plating of hors d'oeuvres.
In the grand sitting room, Adanna and Ifeoma sat stiffly on a velvet sofa, eyes fixed on their grandfather as he meticulously examined the final guest list, his brow furrowed in concentration. His booming voice filled the space.
"Adanna, the ambassador's family is still waiting for a response to their RSVP. I don't want any lapses this year."
"Yes, Father," Adanna replied, her tone crisp, every word measured, her posture flawless.
Ifeoma, in contrast, fidgeted with the hem of her designer dress, her thoughts wandering. This is so boring. Why do we have to sit through this?
