DEBORAH'S POV
The crystal flute felt cold against my lips as I sipped the champagne, hoping it would dull the tedium of this insufferable gathering. Father's grip on my hand was firm, steering me through the crowd of socialites like a prized show pony. Their vapid chatter washed over me in waves, and I found myself nodding mechanically, my responses as rehearsed as they were hollow.
My eyes scanned the room, searching for the one face that could make this evening bearable. Elijah. But he was nowhere to be seen, and his absence made the opulent ballroom feel cavernous and oppressive.
I couldn't take it anymore. The walls seemed to close in, the voices growing louder, more insistent. I turned to Father, plastering on what I hoped was a convincing smile. "I have to use the bathroom," I announced, cutting into whatever dull conversation he was engaged in.