BEATRICE'S POV
Floor carved out of the most expensive marbles in the world, each curtain stitched by the finest seamstresses, Persian carpets soft under my heels, champagne fountains at the centre of the grand ballroom.
Women dressed in silk and satin, diamonds and rubies catching the light of chandeliers shining brightly upon the centre. Men in Tom Ford and Brioni, black tie and watches that speak louder than they ever will.
Wine cools in my hand, sweet and fruity, as I stand at the corner of the room from where everything is visible in my bare eyes. The way a man's hand slips behind another woman when his wife is just next to him, excitedly talking about something, how someone's envious gaze lingers on a young family—a handsome man with his beautiful wife and a toddler daughter.
How weird… I used to think these parties would feel like some kind of accomplishment, but these people mostly don't seem any better, just dressed better and speaking better. I sigh, looking down at my wine.
Lia, bitch, just left me with a cup of wine to socialise with others. I don't mind socialising, but after always making the first conversation and holding it all my life, I have grown tired of being some social butterfly.
Not that I want too many people in my life. The more people get involved, the more complicated it gets.
The door opens wide, and slowly the real deals of the room start entering. The noise dies like someone hushed them.
I swirl the wine in my glass, my gaze following each one who enters. After all, before the party, I did my homework—just in case I can avoid getting in trouble.
The Vanderbilt Family, running the largest real estate corporation in the United States. They set their eyes on weapon manufacturing five decades ago, and the alliance between Laurent and Vanderbilt reached a whole new level.
The man with silver hair and grey eyes, dressed in a tailored grey suit, is Killian Vanderbilt, currently the forerunner to be CEO of Vanderbilt Weapon Manufacturing Corp. Powerful body posture, broad shoulders, tall enough to overwhelm most people in the room… no wonder he is best friends with Adrien Aurélien Laurent.
Behind him enters his younger sister, Julia Vanderbilt. Soft facial features, porcelain pale skin, same grey eyes and silver hair as Killian. I am a woman, but I have to admit it—if I wasn't interested in men, I would have been crushing on those perfect assets of hers.
Following the Vanderbilt siblings enter the Rothenburg family's children.
Rothenburg—they own two-thirds of the luxury art pieces and rare gemstones available in the market. Fashion houses, art galleries, entertainment agencies, newspapers—they are called the culture protectors of Britain. Justifiable, given that under them, British fashion and public opinion have been swayed so many times that it's hard not to find a single agency whose connections don't link to Rothenburg.
Lobbyists in disguise as donors and philanthropists.
Benedict Rothenburg enters with his infamous charming smile, perfect London aristocracy stitched from his cufflinks to his shoes. Black tie, deep blue eyes hiding more than just secrets, ash-brown hair styled back with gel.
Next to him enters his half-brother, aka the Bastard of Rothenburg, Lucian Rothenburg. First three buttons of his shirt undone, messy blonde hair like some women have messed it intentionally, lazy steps. Same deep blue eyes as Benedict, but he poses like a notorious rake of high society, making him the least likely person to take over Rothenburg someday.
Julia smiles shyly at Lucian when he waves at her, which makes Killian shoot a glare at him.
Murmurs get a bit louder when the eldest daughter of Ashcombe enters.
Ashcombe, the tech powerhouse of Europe, from manufacturing semiconductors to recruiting the best talents from Oxford and Cambridge to defend their legal fortress. The eldest daughter of Ashcombe is currently in an intense succession war against her younger brother.
Olivia Ashcombe, her red silk dress hugs her curves perfectly, amber eyes which look almost golden when light reflects on them, pale rosy cheeks, and an almost doll-like face. She greets the Prime Minister of the UK before joining the others.
"Seems like Olivier Ashcombe didn't come? Must be true when they were saying he is closing a massive deal in Taiwan," someone murmurs.
Olivia… Oliver. Hilarious how their parents didn't even try to name them differently.
My wine glass is empty by the time Theodore Schweitzer enters. It feels like the temperature of the room dropped by three degrees when he walks in.
"Aren't the Laurent family and the Schweitzer family in an odd relationship due to that scandal?" someone murmurs loud enough to get hushed instantly.
Yeah, there is some kind of scandal between these two families about which most have no idea.
The Schweitzers, the old Swiss banking dynasty, are discreet in a way that other than God, Devil, and these Schweitzers, nobody knows about what kind of business they do—other than the fact that after the Laurent family, they have the capacity to start a war before sunrise and end it by sunset.
Theodore Schweitzer, the patriarch of this mysterious family, is highly regarded as the most dangerous foe one can have in upper society. Yeah, at the age of 32, he leads one of the five great families of the West. Some say he killed his father and step-siblings to become this.
His close-set violet eyes look almost violent in the most silent way. I thought Adrien Laurent gives off a dangerous vibe—this man reminds me of the legends where they say, "The Devil was never the ugliest in the Garden of Eden. He was God's favourite."
Theodore tilts his head up, and I follow his gaze…
Adrien is standing on the second floor, one hand tucked inside his pocket and the other holding a champagne glass.
Both of their eye contact is just so intense. I wonder if it is possible to kill someone with just a gaze; the entire ballroom would have turned into a battleground.
Adrien's lips curve into a small, arrogant smirk as he tilts his champagne toward him. And it simply pisses Theodore off.
And then suddenly, almost as if there is some kind of third eye at the back of his head, Adrien looks down at me.
Oh FUCK. NOT FUCKING AGAIN!
My glass trembles slightly from nerves. Should I break the contact, or should I hold it?
Jesus, the way my heart is beating, I am sure I would be diagnosed with some kind of heart disease if anything.
Theodore frowns slightly and follows Adrien's gaze…
I just want to fucking dig my grave and hide six feet under.
Adrien blinks slowly, as if he is reading my face in slow motion. Theodore gets called by Lucian… and Adrien gets pulled to the side by someone.
My shoulder drops dramatically, and I let out a bone-deep sigh… I shouldn't be looking around like some CCTV.
This is it. I'm sure.
In this rich man's world, I am just an accountant. Nothing great.
Yet this sick feeling in my stomach is hard to ignore… It must be the wine. I nod to my logic, which is perfectly logical, of course.