Versailles that morning was shrouded in a thin, ethereal mist, lending a magical quality to its majestic Baroque architecture. Inside the Hall of Mirrors, sunlight began to pierce through the towering windows, refracting off the hundreds of mirrors that lined the walls. The atmosphere was deathly silent, yet charged with a tension so thick it could be felt by anyone who dared to cross the threshold.
Ben was preoccupied with the meticulous arrangement of the long, black velvet cloak Scarlett wore. As a fashion stylist, Ben knew the silver silk gown beneath would transform Scarlett into a lunar goddess trapped within a solar palace. Nearby, Kyle applied the finishing touches to Scarlett's lips, using a red so deep it was almost visceral, the color of arterial blood.
"Look at this, Ben," Kyle whispered, gesturing toward the corner where Julian and Sean stood like statues on opposite sides of a battlefield. "The tension in this room is hotter than the studio lights."
