The Emerald Palace was not merely a venue; it was a fortress of old money, designed to intimidate anyone whose lineage didn't stretch back at least five generations.
Tucked behind miles of private forest in the northern hills, its grey stone walls were overgrown with ivy that had likely been planted before the turn of the century.
The wrought-iron gates were guarded by men in charcoal suits who didn't just check invitations—they memorized faces.
For the Hidden Families, tonight's gala wasn't just a social gathering; it was a ritual of tribal status. In their world, surnames like Su, Yang, and Lu were not just names; they were titles of nobility, and blood was the only currency that carried any real value.
Inside the grand ballroom, the air was thick with the suffocating scent of expensive cigars and perfume.
