Ella
The party has settled back into its rhythm after the earlier incident. For a brief second, I allow myself to breathe. The hum of conversations blends with the soft clinking of glasses as I step away from a small group of guests, my eyes scanning the room.
A woman in a sharp, tailored suit approaches me, holding a voice recorder in one hand and a notepad in the other. Her eyes lock on mine with practiced precision, a predator honing in on its next story.
"Good evening, Miss Ella," she says, her voice sweet and polished.
"Good evening," I return, my guard immediately rising, though I offer a polite smile. I already know where this is going.
"Do you have a few minutes to answer a couple of questions?" she asks, gesturing with the notepad.
I glance around the room, considering a polite refusal, but the night is young, and, for now, I have nothing better to do. Besides, I might as well control the narrative.
"Sure, why not," I say, keeping my voice light.