The heavy wrought-iron gates of the Voss estate slowly parted, like a stage curtain lifting to reveal an entirely different world.
Selene Voss stood at the entrance, her posture composed, her expression unreadable as her gaze swept calmly across the scene before her.
A marble driveway stretched deep into the estate, flanked by immaculately manicured French gardens. Roses bloomed in flawless symmetry, as though each petal had been arranged for a private exhibition. At the heart of the Apollo Courtyard rose a grand fountain crowned with a Greek-inspired statue, sunlight striking the cascading water and scattering shards of light into the air.
Beyond it stood the main residence—an echo of Versailles in miniature. Golden window frames gleamed beneath the sun. On either side of the steps, two orderly rows of uniformed staff stood at attention, awaiting her arrival as though welcoming royalty.
Adrian Voss, the chief butler, stepped forward and bowed deeply.
"Miss Selene," he said respectfully, "please come in. The Master and Madam are waiting in the lounge."
Selene followed him inside without hesitation.
They passed through a vast hall with soaring ceilings. A crystal chandelier descended from the domed roof, thousands of Swarovski prisms chiming softly with each subtle movement of air. Priceless oil paintings adorned the walls, while Ming Dynasty blue-and-white porcelain vases stood proudly in every corner. Wealth radiated from every inch of the space—old, unquestionable power.
"You may not be familiar with the current situation in City H," Adrian said carefully as they walked.
"These days, the Ashcroft family sits at the top. The Whitmore, Morgan, and Voss families compete beneath them. Officially, our family ranks last." He paused. "But when the old master was still in control, the Voss name was untouchable."
Selene did not respond. Her gaze drifted briefly to an abstract painting along the wall—an early Zao Wou-Ki piece. Tens of millions, easily.
"Since the old master fell ill," Adrian continued, "and with the current master losing much of his backing, the Voss family's influence has declined."
They turned a corner. A long row of glass display cases came into view, filled with medals, plaques, and historical artifacts from the family's golden era.
"City H now hosts three national-level research laboratories," Adrian said in a lowered voice.
"Each backed by senior figures. Two camps have formed. On the surface, everything appears calm—but beneath it all, the waters are turbulent."
Selene walked on, unhurried.
"The current Madam, Helena Voss, is the daughter of the Morgan clan's head," Adrian added. "The Morgans rank second in City H. Naturally, the Madam holds significant authority."
His voice dropped further. "The Master and Madam are already discussing a marriage arrangement for you. It's considered… necessary to secure your position within the family."
Selene finally turned her head slightly.
The faintest curve touched her lips.
Marriage?
She was curious to see who they believed worthy of her.
This return had never been about reunion.
If she hadn't deliberately left breadcrumbs behind, Julian Voss would never have found her—no matter how long he searched.
Adrian caught that fleeting smile, and his heart tightened.
The files described her as a timid girl raised in the countryside—unremarkable, poorly educated.
But the woman beside him carried herself as if she had always belonged here. Her eyes were clear, sharp, fearless.
This reunion would not be simple.
And the still waters of the Voss family were about to boil.
"Miss Selene, this way," Adrian said, gathering himself. "The Madam asked that you select a few suitable pieces of jewelry."
The jewelry hall lay in the east wing.
When the double doors opened, even Adrian—who had seen countless treasures—paused involuntarily.
Velvet-lined displays stretched across the room, diamonds blazing under soft lighting. Rare gemstones were arranged in neat rows, like a frozen rainbow. The air carried the faint scent of sandalwood and wealth.
Selene did not slow.
Her eyes passed over the priceless collection and locked onto a lone glass case in the far corner.
Inside lay a necklace of unconventional design.
Set in platinum, rare Paraiba tourmalines—blue as the open sea—were cut into irregular geometric shapes, arranged in a flowing star-track pattern. Near the clasp, barely visible, was a small engraved "Y."
Her signature.
Adrian followed her gaze and smiled. "Miss Selene, you have an eye. That's Tears of the Stars. Vivian Voss went to great lengths to acquire it from Master Malcolm Arden. Thanks to that piece, she broke into the domestic design scene and rose to prominence."
Selene's eyes narrowed imperceptibly.
Arden?
She knew this necklace intimately.
It was a discarded design from three years ago. The clasp had felt forced. The soul incomplete. In irritation, she had tossed it into the scrap bin.
Later, she had heard that renowned designer Sebastian Crowe had retrieved it for his private collection.
So how had Malcolm Arden come to claim it?
She opened her mouth. "Who originally designed—"
"Selene!"
The voice cut sharply through the hall.
She turned.
A middle-aged man in a tailored suit hurried toward her, emotion flashing uncontrollably across his face.
Julian Voss stopped dead when the light fell fully on her features.
She looked exactly like her mother.
Mariah Caldwell.
Porcelain skin. Clean brows. Those eyes—
For a moment, time rewound.
But where Mariah's gaze had once been warm and gentle, the young woman before him looked at him with cold, distant clarity.
Guilt surged, choking him. The words he had rehearsed vanished.
Selene stood silently before her biological father.
From her investigation, she knew his recent years had been difficult. After the old master fell ill, his authority collapsed. His indecision allowed Helena and the Morgan family to seize control.
"Mr. Voss," Selene said evenly.
The address struck him harder than any accusation.
Julian forced a bitter smile. "I'm… glad you're home. You—"
"Julian."
A soft, tightly restrained female voice interrupted.
"This must be Selene. She really does resemble Mariah."
Helena Voss stepped forward.
Draped in Chanel, South Sea pearls gleaming at her throat, she moved with practiced elegance. Her smile was gentle, but her eyes swept over Selene with sharp calculation—measuring, assessing, weighing value.
The first real confrontation had begun.