The Audi R8 slowed to a crawl as it approached the grand entrance of the cliffside estate. As the tires crunched over the fine white gravel of the circular driveway, Jake looked up at the towering glass and listone structure. A realization hit him that made a faint, amused smile play across his lips. ’I was actually worried about whether I had an invitation card,’ he thought, adjusting his cuffs. ’I forgot for a mont that this is the ridian Gallery. I’m essentially checking the locks on my own front door.’
The convoy ca to a halt directly in front of the main entrance. Elias was out of the car in a heartbeat, moving with a fluid, silent grace to open Jake’s door. The other two guards from the RS 6 had already stepped out, fanning out to secure the periter of the car with practiced ease.
Jake stepped out into the cool evening air, the salt from the ocean breeze mixing with the expensive scents of perfu and cologne lingering near the entrance. A long red carpet stretched toward the doors, flanked by a literal wall of paparazzi. Their caras were a constant, strobe-like flicker of white light as they captured the arrival of various socialites and industry leaders.
’Even if it’s soone else’s event, I don’t need an invitation to get into my own Gallery, right?’ Jake thought as he began his walk.
He moved with a calm, unhurried pace. At first, the photographers didn’t seem to know what to make of him. To them, he was just another young, well-dressed man—likely the son of so mid-tier executive. He was ignored for a few seconds until he reached the midpoint of the carpet.
"Jake! Jake Rivers!" a reporter from the far left yelled, leaning over the barrier. "Mr. Rivers, over here! Is it true about the inheritance?"
The na acted like a physical shockwave. The other photographers, who had been lazily focusing on a minor film actress behind him, pivoted as one. The silence of the night was replaced by a deafening roar of shutter clicks and shouted questions.
"Mr. Rivers, a comnt on Sterling Infrastructure!"
"Is Golden Investnts planning a hostile takeover?"
Jake didn’t stop. He gave a single, polite wave toward the reporter who had recognized him first—a man with a sharp eye for a story. "Elias," Jake said quietly, his voice barely audible over the din. "Get the contact details for that reporter. He has a better mory than his colleagues."
Passing through the massive bronze-trimd glass doors, the noise of the crowd was cut off, replaced by the hushed, resonant acoustics of the majestic auction house. The interior was a masterpiece of minimalist luxury: soaring ceilings with exposed oak beams, white marble floors that reflected the soft amber glow of recessed lighting, and priceless contemporary art pieces lining the walls.
Two security guards in formal blazers stepped into Jake’s path as he approached the inner foyer.
"Invitation, please," the first guard said, holding out a hand.
"Jake Rivers," Jake replied simply.
The guard frowned, checking his digital tablet. The second guard, however, went pale. He leaned over, whispering urgently to his colleague while looking Jake up and down. The first guard’s brow furrowed. "I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t see a ’Jake Rivers’ on the general guest list."
Jake chuckled softly, a dry, lodic sound. "It’s alright. I suppose it’s easy to forget to invite a man to his own ho."
The guard was about to retort that this was a private event when the second guard practically shoved him aside. "Mr. Rivers, please forgive my colleague. He hasn’t seen the morning briefing. You may go in imdiately. Miss Alice already inford us of your arrival. Box number 1, which is always reserved for your family has been prepared. I’ll have soone take you there in a minute."
Jake tilted his head, a playful glint in his eyes. "I was just about to ask which security detail you worked for. I’d hate to think my own gallery was being guarded by people who don’t read the news."
The first guard started sweating visibly, his hand trembling slightly as he clutched his tablet. He realized in that mont that he had almost barred the owner from entering his building.’
A female attendant in a sleek black dress arrived shortly, bowing slightly before leading Jake toward the private elevator. The box she led him to was less of a seating area and more of a luxury lounge. It featured plush velvet armchairs, a private bar, and a crystal-clear view of the auction stage below through a wide, open-front balcony.
"Lead Marcus Sheele, Adrian Vale, Leon Hart, and Noah Chen here as soon as they arrive," Jake instructed the attendant. "This room is more than big enough for all of us."
Outside, the frenzy had only intensified. Marcus Sheele arrived ten minutes later, looking every bit the charismatic heir. He was wearing a tailored midnight-blue velvet dinner jacket that caught the light with every move. He smiled and waved, looking like he was enjoying every second of the attention.
As Marcus reached the doors, he caught sight of Adrian Vale stepping out of a sleek black sedan. The paparazzi shifted their focus instantly, but Adrian didn’t give them so much as a glance. He was dressed in a monochromatic black suit with a high-collared shirt—no tie—that gave him a stark, architectural look. He walked with a cold, focused energy that seed to push the crowd back without him saying a word. ’That guy really knows how to suck the oxygen out of a room,’ Marcus thought with a grin.
"You should try looking more friendly in public, Adrian," Marcus joked as they t at the entrance. "You’re going to give the reporters a heart attack."
"I am friendly," Adrian replied, his voice flat. "But not with parasites."
Marcus chuckled, shaking his head as they walked in together. The guards didn’t even dream of asking for their nas; they simply bowed and signaled for the attendant to lead them to Box 1.
The atmosphere shifted when Julian Sterling arrived. He looked exhausted, the lines around his eyes deeper than they had been a week ago, but he was putting up a brave front. He forced a stiff smile for the caras, though it didn’t reach his eyes. ’Just get through the night,’ Sterling told himself. ’One conversation with the old guard and this nightmare ends.’
Noah Chen was right behind him, stepping out of a silver GT. Noah looked like he owned the entire street, dressed in a silver-grey silk-wool blend suit that shimred under the cara flashes. Sterling saw him and intentionally slowed his pace, deciding to wait for him inside to avoid the optics of being seen ’chasing’ a younger man on the red carpet.
As Noah passed through the doors into the lobby, Sterling imdiately moved to intercept him. "Mr. Chen, you are looking great this evening. Truly a standout look."
"Thanks, Mr. Sterling," Noah said, his tone polite but distant as he looked over Sterling’s traditional black tuxedo. "You aren’t doing bad yourself. Very... classic."
Sterling swallowed hard, masking his frustration at the subtle jab. "I wanted to check in with you about the delayed ore deliveries from your side. We’ve had so logistics flags that I’m sure are just a misunderstanding. Do you have a minute?"
"Oh, that," Noah said, checking his watch with a bored expression. "I’d be happy to clear any misunderstanding. Let go get settled in first. I’ll inform soone to bring you over when there’s a gap in the schedule."
Noah didn’t wait for a reply. He walked toward the guards, who greeted him with imdiate deference. Sterling overheard the guard telling Noah that ’Mr. Rivers has requested your presence in Box 1.’
Sterling stood in the foyer for a mont, a mix of quiet relief and deep dread washing over him. He was relieved that all the board mbers of Aurelia Capitals were in one place—it made his mission easier—but the thought of having to beg a group of ’kids’ for his company’s life made his stomach turn. He watched Noah disappear toward the private elevators, realizing the power dynamic had shifted more than he ever feared.
---
Julian Sterling was led to his assigned seating area, and the mont he stepped inside, the reality of his situation felt like a physical weight. The box was respectable, furnished with fine leather and offering a clear view of the stage, but it was a standard VIP tier. It was nothing compared to the sprawling, palatial layout of Box 1 that lood across the atrium like a fortress of old money and new power.
Outside, the red carpet was reaching a fever pitch. The roar of the crowd spiked again as a deep erald sports car pulled up. Leon Hart stepped out, looking every bit the high-fashion icon in a bespoke forest-green tuxedo with silk lapels that matched the car’s paint perfectly.
Usually, Leon moved with a lazy, effortless confidence, but tonight his posture was stiff, his eyes darting toward the passenger side with a look that bordered on genuine trepidation.
When he opened the door, the paparazzi nearly broke the barricades. A woman stepped out, and for a few seconds, the shouting stopped as the world collectively held its breath. She was a devastating beauty, possessing a figure that seed carved from marble—elegant, statuesque, and radiating a level of authority that made even the most aggressive photographers hesitate. Her gown was a shimring column of gold sh that moved like liquid against her skin, leaving no doubt that she was the most dangerous person in the room.
Leon offered his arm, but he looked like a man walking toward a firing squad. They moved through the flashes in a blur of gold and green. The mont they cleared the heavy bronze doors and entered the relative quiet of the foyer, Leon leaned in, his voice a frantic whisper.
"I still don’t get why you are here," Leon hissed, his eyes scanning the lobby to ensure no one was eavesdropping. "And with , of all people? You know this is a business operation."
The lady smiled, a slow, predatory expression that didn’t reach her eyes. "Relax... I just want to et little Lilly’s friends. I’ve heard so much about this little group of yours."
Leon’s face went a bright, embarrassed red, his composure fracturing instantly. "I told you never to call that in public!" he warned, his voice low and desperate. "Especially not in front of my friends. If Noah hears that, I’ll never live it down."
She let out a soft, lodic laugh, waving a manicured hand dismissively. "Okay, okay... Leon."
The security guards at the inner door kept their gazes fixed firmly on the far wall, their expressions stony. They were professionals; they knew exactly who this woman was and that hearing her tease a mber of the Hart family was a quick way to lose a job—or a pulse. They didn’t even ask for credentials.
"Mr. Hart," the lead guard said, clearing his throat. "Mr. Rivers has made arrangents. You and your guest are expected in Box 1. An attendant will escort you imdiately."
Leon let out a defeated sigh, adjusting his jacket as if trying to reclaim so shred of his dignity. ’She’s going to ruin before the first auction item even hits the block,’ he thought, resigned to his fate.
He caught the woman’s amused smirk in the reflection of the marble wall and realized he didn’t have a choice. With a stiff nod, he followed the attendant toward the private lift, heading straight into the heart of Jake’s new empire.
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