Adrian
If there’s one thing I’ve learned in thirty years, it’s that money doesn’t buy silence. People like to romanticize wealth as power, as freedom—but that’s a lie. Money doesn’t close mouths. It opens them. It buys noise—paparazzi lenses, hollow compliments, fake laughter that tastes like champagne and poison.
I was drowning in that noise.
So, I ran.
Not forever. Just long enough to breathe. To remember who the hell I was without the Vale name stamped across my forehead like a brand.
That’s why I was here—The Azure. The perfect hiding place. A palace for the powerful, disguised as paradise. The world’s richest playground, where anonymity costs more than most people make in a lifetime. Here, secrets weren’t scandals—they were currency. And as long as you played the game, no one asked questions.
I had a plan.
Blend in.
Stay quiet.
Keep my head down until the whispers back home faded.
Simple.
Until she walked in.
The girl in the thrifted blouse.
She didn’t belong here—not because of what she wore, but because of the way she carried herself. Shoulders tight, like the marble walls were pressing in on her. Eyes flicking to the chandeliers with that mix of awe and disbelief. Guests here didn’t look up. They didn’t have to. They already owned everything worth looking at.
But she looked up.
And that made her fascinating.
I saw her before she saw me—standing in the lobby like she was holding her breath, clutching a single piece of paper like it was her ticket to survival. She had this… fragility about her, but not the kind that breaks. The kind that bends, that fights like hell not to snap.
Then fate—or whatever the hell you want to call it—threw us into the same hallway.
The elevator doors slid open, and there she was, too close for either of us to stop in time. She bumped into me, light but enough for me to catch the sharp inhale of her breath.
“Sorry,” I said, my voice lower than I intended, steady even though something in me wasn’t.
“It’s fine.”
Two words. That’s all. But when her eyes met mine, something shifted.
They were the kind of eyes that didn’t match the rest of her—calm on the surface, but deep enough to drown a man if he stared too long. Eyes that asked questions no one had the courage to answer.
I should’ve looked away.
Instead, I memorized her. The soft curve of her mouth when she tried to smile, like she didn’t quite trust happiness. The way she gripped the paper tighter, knuckles pale. A girl like that didn’t come to The Azure for vacation. She came because life gave her no other choice.
And just like that, she was gone.
A polite nod, the whisper of worn shoes against marble, and she disappeared down the corridor, leaving behind the faint scent of something simple. Not designer perfume—something clean, something real.
I told myself to forget her.
I had bigger problems—problems that wore Italian suits and waited in boardrooms, sharpening knives behind smiles. A family empire built on secrets and steel, board members circling like vultures, whispers about succession that felt more like threats.
This was supposed to be my escape.
But something told me that girl was going to ruin every rule I’d made for myself.
And for the first time in weeks, maybe months, I felt something other than the crushing weight of expectation.
I felt curiosity.
Dangerous, reckless curiosity.
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