The air in Noctaville was crisp, humming with energy and potential as their car slowed to a stop in front of a towering hotel cloaked in gold lights and luxury. It was nothing like home. As the doors were opened for them by sharply dressed porters, Anastasia let out a low whistle, her eyes scanning the lavish structure before them.
"Wow, this place is really nice," she commented, trailing her fingers along the glossy wooden rail of the lobby's spiral staircase.
Annalise nodded in silent agreement, though her words followed soon after. "It's definitely better than the ratty apartment back home."
"Oh my God, this bed is so soft," Anastasia squealed, flopping down on one of the queen-sized beds with a dramatic sigh. "Can you imagine living a life like this every day? Luxury, diamonds, spa dates, hot CEOs at your beck and call…"
Annalise laughed, kicking off her shoes and letting her feet sink into the plush carpet. "It would be nice. But I think I'd rather work for that kind of life than have it handed to me."
Anastasia rolled over, propping her chin up with her hands. "Girl, imagine hooking up with one of the big shots coming to this gala tonight. You could wake up tomorrow married into money!"
"That's possible," Annalise said with a smirk, "but I'm not interested. At least, not right now."
Anastasia groaned, sitting up. "You! What's wrong with you? It's every girl's dream to marry a big shot, and you're telling me you're not into it? Why?!"
Annalise chuckled, walking toward the vanity where her press ID hung neatly over her blazer. "It's not that I'm not interested. Just… not right now. I have dreams to chase before getting tangled in someone else's world."
Shaking her head in mock disbelief, Anastasia pulled out her phone and started scrolling. "You're hopeless. I'm going to follow Caden Valtore's updates. The man's practically a god."
By evening, the excitement had settled into a buzzing nervousness. Their channel had scored them a prime opportunity—exclusive early access to one of the most prestigious events in the country. Alongside their cameraman Jason, the girls dressed up carefully, making sure everything was perfect.
Anastasia wore a deep red gown that hugged her curves, her hair styled in elegant waves. Annalise opted for a more understated navy blue dress with a modest slit and a high neckline—professional, but still stunning.
When they met Jason in the hallway, he gave them an approving once-over. "You both look good. Let's make sure our coverage looks just as good."
The gala venue, a five-star hotel even more opulent than their temporary lodgings, glowed beneath floodlights and camera flashes. Already, paparazzi swarmed the velvet entrance like bees to nectar. Top journalists were present, but their early access gave them a clear vantage point.
Annalise took a deep breath as the camera rolled. Her first live report.
"This is Annalise Moreau reporting live from Noctaville's most exclusive event of the year, where the country's elite gather for an evening of elegance and influence…"
Meanwhile, inside a sprawling penthouse, tension simmered.
"Caden, I hope you're aware that you're supposed to choose a wife at tonight's gala," Dragnok Valtore said, his voice low but firm as he watched his son from across the room.
Caden adjusted the cuffs of his black shirt, purposefully ignoring his father. "I'm not doing that."
"It's tradition," Dragnok pressed, massaging the bridge of his nose. "You know the rules. No union, no inheritance."
Caden turned slowly, his sharp gaze cutting through the room. "Then maybe I don't want it."
His father growled in frustration, but Caden had already picked up his blazer and headed for the door. He wasn't doing this for his father or for the expectations chained to the Valtore name. If he was going, it was only because his grandparents had summoned him. It had been five years since they last laid eyes on him.
The moment Caden's convoy arrived at the gala, the mood outside shifted. Murmurs rose like waves, then silence, as a line of gleaming black cars approached. One by one, they stopped.
The doors opened, and out stepped guards in polished black suits. Then finally, the last car door opened—and Caden Valtore stepped out.
He was a vision in an immaculate black suit, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, revealing the edge of a tattoo curling near his collarbone. His face, all chiseled lines and stoic elegance, held a kind of dangerous calm. The crowd erupted.
"Oh my god, he's hot," Anastasia gasped, clutching her chest. "He's like sin incarnate."
Even Annalise felt her breath hitch. His dark eyes scanned the crowd like a predator surveying its domain—and for a fleeting second, they landed on her. Her heart stuttered.
No. He wasn't looking at her. Why would he? Yet something about the way his gaze lingered for a heartbeat too long made her stomach twist.
"Annalise!" Anastasia nearly screamed, snapping her out of her trance. "Did you see that? He looked at me. He saw me!"
But Annalise wasn't sure who he had looked at—and that uncertainty unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.
The air became electric again when another car pulled in—this time a sleek black Aston Martin. The paparazzi redirected their cameras in unison, sensing something big. The door opened slowly, revealing a man in a deep blue suit… and beside him, a woman barely older than Annalise.
Her heart froze.
"No," she whispered.
Her grip on the mic tightened. "Jason, cut the feed."
"What?" he asked, confused. But when he turned and saw where her gaze had fixed—on the man in the blue suit—his confusion cleared.
The man walked with purpose, arm linked with the woman. He looked proud, smug even, as if parading her for the world to see. But to Annalise, the image was a punch to the gut.
Because that man was her father.
The cameras clicked like angry insects, journalists murmuring amongst themselves.
"Who is he?"
"He looks familiar…"
Annalise didn't answer. She couldn't. Her mouth was dry, her mind a blur. It had been over three years since she'd seen her father—and now he was here, flaunting a woman barely older than his own daughter like a prize.
Anastasia noticed her friend's silence. "Annalise, what's wrong?"
But Annalise was already stepping back, her fingers trembling. Her thoughts screamed louder than the flashes and murmurs around her.
How the fuck this her father get so rich ?!!