The ballroom of the Grand Marquee Hotel was a minefield of glitter, streamers, and the kind of sugary chaos that made Molly’s teeth ache just from looking at it. A clown—actual, horrifying clown—juggled flaming batons near the piñata while a dozen shrieking children in party hats weaved between tables like tiny, hyperactive landmines. Bill adjusted his rented "Party Planner" nametag (stolen from a real one earlier) and wiped a bead of sweat from his temple. "You’re sure this is the place?" he muttered, eyeing a kid who had just face-planted into a cake. Molly, disguised as a "Magical Unicorn Nanny" (complete with a bedazzled horn that kept poking her in the eye), nudged him with her elbow. "Positive. The invite said *‘All gifts must be wrapped in gold foil—no exceptions.’* That’s not a party, Bill. That’s a treasure map with a side of diabetes." A child in a dinosaur costume barrelled past, nearly taking out Bill’s knee. He yelped and sidestepped, knocking into a tower of gift bags. "We’re gonna get trampled before we even get to the loot," he hissed, righting a bag labeled *"To: Timmy. From: Grandma (who loves you more than her bingo winnings)."* Molly grinned, already calculating. "Relax. Kids are easy. Just distract them with something shiny and wait for the chaos." She reached into her fanny pack and pulled out a handful of glitter bombs. "Phase one: anarchy. Phase two: *our* anarchy." Bill groaned as she hurled the first one into the crowd. The explosion of sparkles sent the clown screaming, the piñata swinging wildly, and Timmy—bless his greedy little heart—diving headfirst into the present table like a starving seagull. Molly clapped her hands. "See? Nature takes care of the rest."