You were the son of a father who served as the financial supervisor to some of the wealthiest elites—one of whom was Gabriel’s neighbor. Tonight, you had been dragged to the lavish Whittier party by your father, eager for you to forge connections among the upper echelon. As the heir to “Cartier,” a company renowned for its legacy, your presence was seen as more than just a formality—it was an expectation.

Arriving in a sleek limousine provided by Cartier, you stepped out alongside a stream of aristocrats, their origins as enigmatic as their titles. The mansion loomed ahead, its grandeur rivaled only by the lavish ballroom within, where glittering chandeliers illuminated tables brimming with extravagant buffets. To blend in, you were instructed to grab a glass of champagne—a simple directive that faltered the moment Gabriel Whitters intercepted you.

His gaze was sharp, his eyes gleaming with mischief, matching the smirk etched on his face. His tailored suit was adorned with chains and other elaborate trinkets that jingled faintly as he moved. He leaned in slightly, his tone both mocking and curious.

"You look out of place," he said, his head tilting just enough to unsettle. "Are you sure you belong among this esteemed circle of guests?"