The sea breeze carried the scent of money. Not salt, not sun—money. The kind that didn’t just whisper wealth; it screamed it in gold-plated letters and imported marble. It was the kind of wealth that could choke you if you breathed too deeply. The kind that didn’t just open doors; it built them from Italian stone, lined them with velvet, and locked out people like me.
I stood outside the glass doors of The Azure, the most exclusive resort on the Riviera, clutching the single sheet of paper that could change my life: a job offer. Well, not even an offer—an invitation for an orientation shift. Nothing permanent. Nothing promised.
The revolving door spun like a portal to another world as women in silk dresses and men in pressed linen strolled past me, not sparing a glance at the girl in a thrifted blouse and scuffed flats. Their laughter sounded different—lighter, like they had oxygen the rest of us didn’t.
I stared at the reflection in the glass. My hair was neat enough—pulled into a low bun—but it didn’t shine like theirs, like it had been kissed by luxury shampoos. My blouse was cream, the kind of cream that pretends it’s white until you see it next to actual white. My flats were practical, worn thin at the toes, betraying every mile I’d walked to get here.
I could hear my brother’s voice in my head.
Don’t screw this up, Elara. We need this.
I tightened my grip on the paper, took a breath that felt like swallowing nails, and stepped inside.
The lobby hit me like a slap of opulence. Chandeliers dangled like frozen fireworks from a ceiling so high it could have had its own weather. The floor gleamed with marble so polished I could see the cracks in my confidence staring back at me. Glass walls revealed an infinity pool that melted into the ocean beyond, the horizon blurred like a painting.
Everything screamed untouchable.
And I was about to touch it.
“Welcome to The Azure.”
The voice was smooth, feminine, and expensive. I turned to see a hostess materialize in front of me like she’d been conjured by money itself. Her smile was perfect—white teeth framed by coral lipstick, skin glowing under the soft light like polished porcelain. Her uniform wasn’t a uniform at all; it was a statement—a tailored navy dress that looked like it belonged in a designer catalog, not a staff closet.
“Are you checking in?” she asked, voice dipped in honey, but her eyes… her eyes were scanning. Cataloguing. Judging.
I forced a smile that probably looked like it had been left in the rain too long. “Um… no. I’m here for the staff orientation. Elara Hayes.”
Her smile flickered. Just for a second, like a lightbulb deciding whether I was worth the electricity. Then it snapped back on, sharper this time, as if someone had told her smile like you mean it or die trying.
“Of course,” she said, tone now dipped in something cooler, like silver. “Right this way.”
Her heels clicked on marble as she turned, and I followed, trying not to gawk at the living magazine spread around me. Everywhere I looked there were things I’d only seen on Pinterest boards: orchids in glass vases, art pieces that probably cost more than my college tuition, people lounging like royalty waiting for their kingdoms to arrive.
As we wove through a maze of whispered conversations and soft jazz humming from invisible speakers, I reminded myself why I was here.
To survive.
Rent was three weeks late. My brother needed meds. The last call from the landlord wasn’t a warning—it was a countdown. I was one paycheck away from losing everything.
So I walked like I belonged. Chin up, shoulders back, like confidence could be stitched into skin if you faked it hard enough.
I didn’t notice him at first.
Not until the elevator doors slid open and a man stepped out, nearly colliding with me.
He was tall—that kind of tall that makes the air feel different around him. Broad shoulders under a simple black T-shirt, dark jeans that fit like sin. Sunglasses hung from his collar, and his hair—messy, sun-kissed brown—looked like he’d just run a hand through it. Twice. Maybe three times.
“Sorry,” he said, voice low, smooth as the whiskey my father used to drink before life turned bitter.
I swallowed, heat creeping up my neck. “It’s fine.”
Our eyes met—and for a second, something shifted. His gaze was sharp, not the lazy glance of a man checking a girl out, but something deeper. Curious. Calculating. Like he was trying to solve me without the instructions.
Then it was gone, replaced by a polite nod as he moved past, leaving behind a faint trail of expensive cologne that didn’t belong to a guy in jeans.
Whoever he was, he didn’t fit. He didn’t belong to this world any more than I did.
But I’d learn soon enough: Adrian Vale never fit anywhere. Not even in his own life.
ns216.73.216.46da2
and then Add to home screen.