Chapter Hundred And Sixty

Cassandra, desperate to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the ballroom, turned to the only solace she could think of: wine. She began accepting glasses from passing waiters, the liquid burning a temporary path down her throat, a futile attempt to numb the pain in her heart. 

Each glass was a desperate attempt to drown out the reality of her situation, the weight of her unwanted engagement. But the wine only amplified her despair, making her feel more suffocated, more trapped.