The Matchmaker’s Soirée

The grand ballroom of Château de Lumière glowed with the soft light of crystal chandeliers, their brilliance reflecting off polished marble floors and gilded mirrors. The room was filled with elegance—tables draped in pristine white linens, glasses of champagne catching the light, and attendees dressed to the nines. The air buzzed with the low hum of laughter, conversation, and the occasional clink of a glass.

Ava stepped into the room, her black evening gown brushing the floor as her heels clicked against the tiles. She glanced around, her eyes darting over the crowd of impeccably dressed matchmakers, clients, and a smattering of French socialites. For all its beauty, the room felt daunting. The competition had officially begun, and every conversation, every interaction, felt like it carried the weight of judgment.

Ryan appeared at her side, tugging lightly at the collar of his suit. "Well, this is… something," he said, surveying the scene.