The polished oak floors of the grand ballroom reflected the glittering light of three massive crystal chandeliers hanging overhead. Clara adjusted the strap of her champagne satin gown, feeling the cool silk beneath her trembling fingers. She stood entirely alone near the center of the massive room, surrounded by dozens of wealthy guests dressed in immaculate black-tie attire.
Cruel chuckles drifted across the room from small groups gathered near the open bar. The heavy scent of expensive perfume filled the air while a dark piano melody played softly in the background. Clara wiped a small drop of sweat from her cheek, her delicate skin flushing red under the harsh room lights.
Victoria: Look at what she is wearing tonight, completely out of place.
Richard: She probably bought that cheap satin dress off a clearance rack yesterday.
Victoria: Her father barely manages to pay his office rent in South Boston.
Clara: I only came because the charity foundation invited my family.
Victoria: An invitation given out of pity is not a pass into our society, sweetie.
Clara gripped her small leather purse tightly against her stomach as more guests turned around to watch the embarrassing scene unfold. A tall woman in an emerald silk dress stepped forward, tossing her long blonde hair over her shoulder with a sharp sneer.
Victoria: You think a pretty face wipes away your family background, Clara?
Clara: My father worked thirty years to build an honest business here.
Victoria: An honest business that went completely bankrupt last month!
Laughter erupted across the immediate crowd as several older men clinked their champagne glasses together in malicious agreement. Clara felt tears burning behind her eyelids as she looked around for a friendly face among the fifty people watching her suffer.
Clara: My father never took a single dime that was not his.
Victoria: And that is exactly why you have nothing left today.
Richard: Victoria, leave the poor girl alone before she starts crying on the carpet.
Victoria: I am simply pointing out that this annual charity galas is reserved for real donors.
Clara felt a warm tear trace a slow line down her freckled cheek, hitting her collarbone like a needle drop. The surrounding voices blended into a low, mocking hum that echoed inside her ears until she could barely breathe.
Clara: I shouldn't have come here...
Victoria: Finally, she realizes where she actually belongs.
Clara turned on her heel and pushed past two young men holding crystal glasses filled with vintage champagne. Her high heels clicked violently against the hard oak flooring as she sprinted straight toward the massive carved exit doors at the end of the hall.
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