There's always a burning spotlight a glistening over the mightiest elites of New York's tightest inner circle, clinking together in unison with crystal flutes of rosé under bejeweled chandeliers as parties run from night til dawn.
They were the gilded ones.
Take a look at our Kings and Queens of our tiny Manhattan-isle. The ones who reign our schools and social scenes with their mega-watt smiles and never-out-of-placed hair.
The devious spawns of New York's beloved politicians, silver-screen director's, secret plastic surgeons, and the nifty international CEOs; each of them as more magnificently fucked up as the next, each of them hiding cowardly behind blood-red curtains of their darkest messes, juggling their imported fabrics, cars, and opulence, each of them tied together in a satin bow, imprisoned by trust funds and designer bags by parents willing to give them the world if they simply b e h a v e d.
But what happens when one of the mightiest takes a spin on the wild-side and lands up with a New York native's blood on their hands? Money might buy happiness, but it surely doesn't buy innocence.
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