BEATRICE'S POV
11 November
Laurent Corporation's 200th anniversary. Sitting at the top of its game, this family business, which once started in an alley of Paris—small and insignificant, meant to sustain livelihood—shifted to New York during the 2nd Industrial Revolution.
Now it dominates the finance, oil, shipping, and insurance industries of the West, along with four other conglomerate families.
People have many speculations about the five dominating conglomerate families of the West:
The Laurent Family
The Vanderbilt Family
The Rothenburg Family
The Ashcombe Family
The Schweizer Family
Each family has its own distinctive influence and history, older than most nations. Modern aristocratic families who control the narrative of economics behind charity galas and closed-door meetings.
My eyes sting from going through the 90th Excel sheet of the day inside my cabin at Laurent Corporation's headquarters. It's 9 PM, and the party at the Waldorf Astoria New York will start in 30 minutes. As one of the star employees, I am invited to attend an event where none in my bloodline has ever even heard the name of.
I am Beatrice Kenz. A 26-year-old accountant officer at Laurent Corporation—yeah, one of those conglomerate family businesses I just mentioned.
For a 26-year-old with no daddy's money or surname to open doors, this position of mine is something most of my peers only dream about. My office on the 23rd floor overlooks the steel and glass.
My phone buzzes with a text from my best friend Lia. A wide grin creeps onto my face as I read it: "Betty Betty—I'm already at the venue. Damn girl, those Laurents have indeed spent millions behind this massive celebration."
Her excitement makes me forget about the dryness in my eyes from staring at the computer screen for hours. Most of the office is empty. I stand up, and a soft groan leaves my mouth.
"Fuck. My back hurts from yesterday's weight lifting."
I take my dress bag and go to the women's changing room, which is nothing less than a private walk-in changing room of some high-end brand. I slip into my strapless white satin dress, featuring a tailored bodice that flows into a flared mermaid skirt, providing a clean and statuesque base.
My tanned skin creates a gorgeous contrast against my dress, and damn, I look good.
All those gym days and calorie counts have given my curves such sharp shape that it's hard to believe I used to be some ugly duckling back in the day.
Letting my curls fall down my shoulder, I put on makeup: shimmery brown eyeshadow, pink blush, maroon lipstick.
"Now I look like someone who deserves to be called the devil of the trading floor," I smirk, looking at my reflection in the mirror.
Me, obsessed with me?
Yes, I am.
I get down; the company car is already waiting. There are two other women, dressing too hard for today's event, mostly from different departments. They give me a look before going back to fixing their makeup.
My eyes flutter in irritation from how intense the perfumes are inside the car. Damn this nose of mine, which doesn't like 99% of perfume in the world.
One of the women, with glossy blonde hair and… well, very well-kept assets, is sitting right between me and the other girl doing touch-ups.
She is talking in French on her phone, and I wish I could have just told her—without making her feel awkward or embarrassed—that I understand whatever she thinks nobody else in this car will.
"Oh, don't worry. Today, I am sure to catch the eyes of one of the men of those five families. Yes, I have taken those fertility pills, and everything is ready too."
I cover my lips and look outside, trying hard not to judge but failing so. Why are some women so interested in making their lives complicated and dramatic? Is there even any need to seduce some rich heir when those cowards will never take you publicly?
Rich people marry other rich people.
These affairs only remain secret. Well, whatever—it's none of my business what someone else does.
Good luck with catching the eyes of one of the men of the five great families and not becoming a mistress.
The car stops at the entrance of the hotel, and my eyes widen at how they have decorated everything: dim lights, guards standing at every corner like shadows. Old stones that hold more stories than some legends, and everything smells like money too.
My heels click against the pavement. The guard checks my golden invitation card and gives me a look down and then back at one of the guards, who gives some kind of hand signal.
"Any problem?" I ask, tilting my head. The guard shakes his head. "My apologies. You need to wait a moment. The Vice Chairman's car is here."
My eyes follow his gaze, turning to look back. A sleek black Rolls Royce stops. At least twenty guards instantly split like shadow soldiers as the door opens.
Not just me—every other guest is stopped from entering. The VIP protocols are strict, after all.
A man steps out of the car, and I swear nothing ever prepared me for how devastatingly handsome the heir of the Laurent Family might be.
The media were never allowed to click any pictures of him, and I haven't ever attended any meeting where I could even breathe the same air as him.
Jawline sharp enough to cut, high cheekbones, asymmetrical facial structure, eyebrows that look like God took special care in drawing them. And what stands out more are his heterochromatic eyes: left eye icy blue like a still glacial lake, and right eye the deepest shade of hazel green I have ever seen.
I didn't realize how I was studying his face and straight tall body posture like some art I am only allowed to stare at from afar—until his eyes met mine in the crowd of guards as he walks past me.
My pulse kicks up slightly in embarrassment. Fuck!
Adrian Aurélien Laurent walks like a predator. Silent, but heavy with presence. My head automatically dips in a curtsey, just like other employees and other guests who are waiting to pass security and get inside.
The cool air of New York suddenly feels too hot, filled with my sharp sense of embarrassment. I hate getting caught while staring at some handsome fella.
The guards vanish once he is inside, and finally I can let out a long-held breath.
First encounter with the Vice Chairman… I shake my head. He didn't even notice me. Why do I lose my sensibilities around handsome guys?
"I have been single for too long… Just why can't I find the love of my life?"
I whine under my breath, particularly to nobody, as the guard finally lets me inside the party…