Se-Ri's POV
Leo picked me up exactly on time.
Black car. No chauffeur. Just him in a midnight-blue suit and silence tailored to his mood. He stepped out, walked to my side of the car, and opened the door without ceremony.
"You look—" he began.
I raised a brow. "Be careful."
He smirked. "—like someone who'll make people nervous."
That, I accepted.
My dress was fitted, floor-length, black with a subtle sheen that shifted in candlelight. Hair pulled back. Earrings like punctuation marks. Not meant to please — meant to hold attention.
The party was held in a penthouse gallery in Yorkville, the kind of space designed to whisper generational wealth through white walls and minimalist sculpture.
It smelled like expensive perfume and understated power.
Leo walked beside me without touching, but close enough that I felt him — his presence like static beneath skin.
People greeted him with the sort of nods reserved for someone both respected and feared.
A few glanced at me. Most pretended not to.
It didn't bother me.
Until someone called out — bright, clear, practiced:
"Leo."
I turned at the same time he did.
She was tall. Polished. Bone structure sharp enough to count as currency in this crowd. Hair in a sleek knot. A cream silk gown that whispered pedigree.
"Vivian," Leo said with a polite nod.
Vivian. His ex-fiancée.
Of course, she'd be named something elegant and bloodless.
She turned to me, cool curiosity flickering across her face.
"You must be his… guest?" she asked.
I gave her a small smile. "I'm Se-Ri Singh."
Her eyes paused. Recognition clicked — whether from tech news, fashion columns, or whispered family intel, I couldn't tell.
I didn't wait for her to place me.
"I run Serenité Skincare. You may have seen us in Paris or—" I glanced deliberately at her flawless cheekbone, "—Vogue India's clean luxury issue?"
Vivian blinked once. Smiled thinner. "Ah. Yes."
Leo's silence beside me was almost pleased.
She turned back to him. "Your father's expecting you upstairs."
Then she left. Like she always exits first.
I turned to Leo. "She's lovely. In a textbook."
He exhaled a laugh. "You didn't flinch."
"She tried to rattle me. She should've studied more."
Upstairs, the mood shifted.
The gallery's upper floor was quieter. More private. More male.
Suits clustered near decanters. Laughter was hushed. Names I'd only ever seen in pitch decks and business columns floated from lips like old money spells.
Then I noticed a man.
Grey suit. Stillness like stone. Surrounded by an orbit of influence. I knew that face — not from family photos, but from boardroom leaks, business columns, and whispers behind capital tables.
I touched Leo's palm slightly. "Is that... the director of Bridgestone Ventures? Mr. Markus Wu?"
Leo glanced over. "You know him?"
"He's the biggest silent investor in Serenité Skincare," I said softly.
Leo paused. "Do you want to meet him?"
"Yes."
He took my hand and led us toward the man.
"Dad," he said.
I froze...
Dad?