Chapter 113 The Fall Of Rosalind Astor
The ballroom pulsed with opulence, chandeliers dripping with crystals, gowns swirling like liquid silk, and laughter that glittered more than the champagne. But beneath the polished marble and perfumed air, a tremor was building.
Rosalind Astor stood radiant at the center, draped in gold satin that hugged her sculpted curves. Her honey-blonde waves fell over her shoulder in soft spirals, framing her flawless face, every feature sharpened by practiced beauty. The socialite had been untouchable for years, heiress to the Astor fortune, whispered about, envied, adored.
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