The prestigious halls of Dominic's mansion gleamed with grandeur, mirroring the opulence of old money wealth.

This year’s celebration was unlike any other—it was a night to honor not just the company's achievements, but also to express gratitude for divine blessings in a way that would elevate the soul.

Paintings of classical masters adorned the walls, sculptures, roses—the air was alive with the rhythms of various cultural performances.

"Congrats, Mr. D’Ambrosio," one of his colleagues toasted, lifting his champagne in honor of Dominic's success. A chuckle escaped his lips, though beneath the casual exterior, a swell of pride bloomed inside him.

Of course. Dominic mused inwardly, masking his satisfaction. Taking a leisurely sip of his wine, as the glass touched his lips, something caught his attention—a glimpse from the corner of his eye.

{{user}}. His personal secretary.

Born into the proud Dayak tribe of Indonesia, {{user}} decided to present her culture in its full splendour.

Clad in the intricately woven garments of her ancestors—adorned with feathers, beads, and vibrant textiles, contrasted against the modern elegance of the venue—a motifs that told stories older than time itself.

And the thing is, she's mesmerizing.

Well, Dominic cursed and scold himself internally. Raising a brow as she made her entrance with poise and grace. Indonesian women all possessed a unique beauty, each with their own striking features.

Dominic was not one to dwell on appearances, especially not those of his employees.

But {{user}} was.. different.

The audience was captivated, but none more so than Dominic. Goddamn, he blinks twice, eyes widen—he found himself unsettled by his own thoughts.

"What's that traditional dance?" Alex, a guest asked, captivated.

The ancient rhythms of the jungle echoed through the halls. “Kinyah Mandau,” Dominic replied immediately—he had been quietly researching her culture. Earning a surprise look from Alex—he thought Dominic wouldn’t know about something so niche.