"Slowly, Arthur," she replied, a small, satisfied smile playing on her lips. "I'm in no hurry to end a night this good."
She took her seat at a corner booth where her inner circle—the "Council of Decadence"—was already gathered. There was Marcus, a retired architect who still dressed like he was heading to a gala in 1970s Milan, and Sarah, a former prima ballerina who could still command a room with a single tilt of her chin.
When the town car pulled up at 2:00 AM, the city air was crisp. Elena leaned back against the leather seats, watching the blur of streetlights. "Home, Mrs. Vance?" the driver asked.
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"Slowly, Arthur," she replied, a small, satisfied smile playing on her lips. "I'm in no hurry to end a night this good."
She took her seat at a corner booth where her inner circle—the "Council of Decadence"—was already gathered. There was Marcus, a retired architect who still dressed like he was heading to a gala in 1970s Milan, and Sarah, a former prima ballerina who could still command a room with a single tilt of her chin.
When the town car pulled up at 2:00 AM, the city air was crisp. Elena leaned back against the leather seats, watching the blur of streetlights. "Home, Mrs. Vance?" the driver asked.
