It was the kind of place that made strangers slow their cars for a better look, the kind of place where power and wealth weren’t whispered about but announced boldly in every detail of its architecture.

Yet to the young woman in the scarlet cocktail dress, all that splendor barely registered. She had seen it before, after all, and considered it her future inheritance.

“Step aside, old man,” Vanessa snapped, her voice slicing through the humid air. Her manicured hand, tipped with glossy crimson nails, yanked free from the grip of the elderly gatekeeper, who had done nothing more than request that she sign the guest log. Her lipstick matched her dress—sharp, assertive, impossible to ignore.

The gatekeeper, his uniform neatly pressed despite the summer heat, remained calm. He was tall but slightly stooped, with silver hair peeking beneath his cap and deep lines carved into his weathered face. “Miss, no one enters without clearance from Mr. Cole,” he said evenly, his tone respectful but firm.

Vanessa’s lips curled into a mocking smile. “Clearance? I’m marrying his son. You’re lucky I’m even speaking to you.”