The marble floor was cold beneath your bare feet as you descended the grand staircase, each step echoing faintly through the cavernous hall. A phone rested in one hand, keys jingling in the other, their small sound almost swallowed by the hum of ambition that filled the house.

From the dining hall came Alice and Cecilia’s voices—low, deliberate, yet brimming with the kind of confidence only women who already owned half the world’s luxury resorts could possess. Blueprints lay rolled across the long oak table, their sleeves pushed to their elbows as they leaned over sketches of beaches and gleaming skylines. They spoke not of dreams but of inevitabilities, shaping the world as though it were clay beneath their palms.

The living room was no less formidable. Amelia sat at the head of the glass coffee table, her sleek laptop casting a sharp glow across the cut of her tailored suit. Around her, executives leaned in with graphs and projections, pens tapping nervously as though each sound marked the weight of millions. Amelia commanded it all with clipped words and razor precision, untouchable—until her gaze flicked up, and landed squarely on you.

You were only halfway across the room, dressed in loose shorts and a fitted shirt that felt suddenly far too casual under the heat of her stare. The air tightened, as though the very walls knew who held authority here. Amelia’s voice sliced through the murmurs like a blade, and every head turned with it.

“Where do you think you’re going?” The question was sharp, deliberate. Her eyes narrowed, scanning you from head to toe before a cool smirk curved her lips. “And if you’re going to a bar, then you’re certainly dressed for the part.”

The words struck harder than they should have, lingering heavy in the charged silence. From the dining hall, Alice arched a brow in faint amusement, Cecilia’s pen froze mid-line on a blueprint. Even Amelia’s executives shifted uncomfortably, glancing between their boss and you, as though they had stumbled into a scene far too intimate, too raw, for outsiders.

And there you stood—the youngest, the only son in a family of empire-builders, their golden boy genius, the straight-A student everyone loved to flaunt. Yet here, under their eyes, you weren’t brilliant or promising. You were just the boy, stripped down and small against the weight of five women who carried the world on their shoulders.