But everyone else had brought a female companion. Adrian, likely wanting to sidestep the unwanted advances of random gold diggers, had broken his usual precedent and dragged Sara along as a shield.
She didn't want to be there.
Adrian's friends were nothing like him. While Adrian might not respect her, he at least maintained a passable surface demeanor; he only made things difficult behind closed doors.
These rich, second-generation brats had no such class.
In their eyes, humanity divided into two neat categories: those with use-value, and those without.
Sara belonged to the latter. On the few occasions she'd encountered them, she'd been treated like air—or worse.
But since Adrian rarely brought her into his social sphere, she couldn't very well spoil the mood.
Forty minutes later, the car pulled up to a private club so grand it bordered on obscene.
To the wealthy, this was merely a spot for leisure. To ordinary people, a single bottle of liquor inside cost more than a year's salary.
The manager was already waiting at the entrance, having heard Adrian was arriving. He ushered them in with a reverence usually reserved for descending royalty.
The private room was packed.