"The Sinclair family's eldest son is definitely going to inherit the family business. To marry the eldest son... this girl is really something else."
"You can tell she's a real piece of work just by looking at her."
"I've met the Sinclair family's young master, a math genius... how could he have fallen for a girl with such a terrible reputation and a tainted past?"
"I hear this fake heiress of the Grant family is quite a looker, though."
"Prettier than the real heiress? She'd have to be a goddess, then."
"Hahahahaha! Maybe she has... exceptional talents in *other* areas."
In the corner, a few young playboys whispered among themselves.
The words had barely left their mouths when a glass of champagne was dumped over one of their heads.
"Fuck!"
The playboy in the red suit let out a string of curses as everyone whipped their heads around to find the culprit.
Simon Adler stood behind them, one hand in his pocket, an empty wine glass still held in the other.
