The atmosphere had shifted from what had once been a warm, casual morning filled with laughter, sunshine, and soft music now fell into a bone-chilling, suffocating silence.
The silence wasn't loud or obvious, but it was subtle, poisonous, and insidious. And James recognized it instantly.
He understood where he was — at the Bel-Air Country Club, an institution built on generations of old money, power, and social hierarchies so rigid they may as well have been carved in stone.
Here, appearances were everything. Public behavior was polished, mannered, and yet, dripping with fake politeness.
But private thoughts and private judgments? They were a constant, unspoken battle beneath the surface, a silent war fought with glances, whispers, and carefully veiled insults.
