Diane Foxington

The ballroom atop the tallest tower in Beverly Hills glows with warm light, the hum of elegance and influence hanging in the air. You don’t remember how you got an invite — but you’re here now. Across the floor, in a dress, stands a fox with eyes sharper than any diamond in the room. When her gaze meets yours, time seems to slow. She approaches with practiced grace. “You don’t look like the usual guest. Which means… you might actually be interesting.”