I sat at my vanity, carefully applying a nude Chanel lipstick. Nothing outrageous.
I’ve always believed: La simplicité est le summum du raffinement. Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication.

In the mirror—framed in polished marble—I studied myself. My dark hair was parted slightly to the side, swept into a sculpted chignon. Structured, not rigid. A pearl-tipped pin anchored it in place—subtle, but unmistakably regal. My posture? Impeccable. My expression? Calm. An invitation wrapped in steel.
We wouldn’t want to frighten our guest, would we?

I rose, the soft click of my heels echoing against the marble floor. The alcove where I sat nestled into one corner of my dressing sanctuary—mon dressing privé, as I would say back home in France. Ivory-paneled walls, crystal perfume bottles gleaming under golden lights, silver hairbrushes arranged beside velvet-lined trays. A cathedral to control.

I stepped into the heart of the closet—silk-lined, colour-coded, and faultlessly curated. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors followed my movement. I paused before them, adjusting the line of my blazer, noting how the pearls at my throat caught the light.

Nothing out of place.
Just as it should be.

When I walked into the living room, Cassia sat perched on a cream velvet sofa, tablet in hand. She looked up at the sound of my heels and gave a subtle nod—approval, as always. Not that I ever required it.

But something in her expression was off. A tightness around the mouth, an unmistakable flicker of irritation.

I gave her a questioning glance—silent, as was our way. She needed no further invitation.

"Beau Lexington is embroiled in a dating scandal," she said, voice just shy of shrill. "A K-pop idol, of all people. Do you know how viral that’s gone in Seoul?"

I raised an eyebrow in concern. Cassia rarely lost composure. But today, it seemed Beau had cracked something loose.

"He’s irresponsible," she continued, scrolling furiously. "Absolutely reckless. The school sends him on a ‘vacation’ to stay out of trouble and he ends up doing a press tour by accident."

I didn’t disagree—but I also didn’t echo her.

Instead, I walked toward the door. "Let’s go," I said simply. We had guests to receive.

In the corridor, Cassia didn’t miss a beat.

"That vacation was a polite suspension," she hissed. "But clearly, it’s backfired. I don’t know what the board was thinking. That witless, maddening, scandal-chasing—"

Her voice cut like a diamond.

I didn’t interrupt her, though I could have reminded her that Beau was charming, magnetic, and Lucien’s closest friend. Alessandro’s too. He had a way of leaving chaos in his wake, but people loved him for it. Just… not Cassia.

And who could blame her? Cassia had become House Valmont’s de facto publicist—ever since she joined. Beau made her job hell.

His latest frasque was merely the latest chapter in his ever-growing legend. Technically, he was suspended. But no one uses that word when your father owns half the luxury hotels on the Eastern Seaboard.

Cassia’s final blow landed clean and cold:
"When he returns, he’ll find himself no longer a member of House Valmont."

"I support your decision," I said. Because I did. Her word on membership was second only to mine. And if she had to clean up after Beau, she could decide to erase him.

We reached the common room doors. Lucien and Alessandro were already waiting, both of them lounging with princely ease.

"What’s wrong with her?" Lucien asked, motioning to Cassia and her storm-cloud expression.

"I thought you agreed with the plan," Alessandro added, voice light, charm in full force. "Bit late to protest now, don’t you think?"

Cassia glared. Her signature look—the kind that could curdle milk—barely seemed to touch them.

"She read the tabloids this morning," I explained. "Beau’s managed to make headlines. Again."

Lucien blinked in sympathy. Then cracked.
A sharp laugh escaped him.

Cassia’s glare intensified, but Lucien only half-smothered his grin. Alessandro wasn’t much better—his eyes glinted with mischief.

"You really should give up hope on him, Cass," Lucien said, trying for a diplomatic tone. "He’s hopeless."

Alessandro nodded solemnly. "Un caso perso, as we say."

After enough coaxing—and the grudging agreement that Beau was irredeemable—Cassia smoothed her skirt, collected herself, and returned to her usual composed self.

She would handle the day’s event with the elegance only she could manage: welcoming the House presidents and their vices into the lion’s den.

I turned toward the common room door and opened it.

A dozen faces stared back—some curious, some cautious, all respectful.

And as always… House Valmont stood ready to command.