BEATRICE'S POV
Jennifer Laurent clicks her champagne glass, gaining the attention of the room. Her calm elegance as the wife of the Patriarch of the Laurent family is truly astonishing.
I look up, amazed at how, without even speaking a word, a woman can hold the attention of a room full of millionaires and billionaires. The faint sound of a slow violin in the background adds another subtle undercurrent to the room.
Her dark brown hair is tied into a sleek bun, sky-blue dress that looks unreal in its perfect folds, and a ruby necklace shining against her pale neck. Lines of age near her eyes make her look even more powerful. Hazel-green eyes slowly sweep over the crowd.
It's my first time feeling so intimidated by a woman I don't even know. She speaks smoothly, French accent heavy on her tongue.
"Welcome to the celebration of Laurent Corporation's 200th anniversary."
Everyone claps, smiling. I sip my wine, tasting the sweet fruitiness only those old wines can hold.
"Everyone present at this party is important to our family and business alike. And I can't be more grateful for your presence tonight. My husband personally wished to be present here tonight, but due to urgent business, he isn't here."
My eyebrow twitches. What business must be so important that Dominik Ludwig Laurent didn't attend his company's 200th anniversary? I shake my head, instantly brushing away the idea of being nosy about these people's affairs.
"Then, let's commence the celebration. To victory!" She lifts her champagne glass, and everyone in the room joins the toast. I gulp down my wine; its gentle flavor reminds me of the good old days when I used to pretend pomegranate juice was actually wine.
A soft chuckle leaves my mouth, remembering my own stupidity. True—people do the most random bullshit.
"Wooo, someone is enjoying being a sad case."
My eyes narrow as I locate the source of the voice. The daughter of one of the board of directors who works in the same department as me.
"And someone is enjoying being a bitch."
Sophia's face turns red, twisted in annoyance. As if I care.
"You must feel flattered being present in this room. Your entire life would have ended, but you wouldn't even have had the effort to have a dinner in this hotel."
This arrogance, smugness, and bloody entitlement make my blood boil despite my best logic. "Of course. Unlike someone whose daddy saves her from going broke, I earn my own bread."
Sophia's eyes widen, jaw clenches tight, hand gripping the stem of her champagne glass so hard that it's a miracle it didn't break. She always hates it when someone mentions her being a nepo baby. There is no harm in being a nepo baby—but you have to own it without acting all shitty.
She walks closer. "Beatrice, I can ruin your career."
I smile. "And I can ruin your reputation."
That catches her in the middle of her shit-talking. This is something I've worked too hard to build over years. Starting from my university to my workplace—being the most honest, trustworthy, and loyal person one could ever know.
Result?
A word from me can ruin someone's reputation and might even make a lie sound true. Sophia's voice cracks slightly. "You won't dare." "Try me."
She looks like she wants to strangle me while simultaneously begging me not to ruin her reputation—all while maintaining her facade of confidence.
"You are the worst."
I nod. "That was always the plan."
Sophia is about to say something more when her father, Mr. Jonathan, walks into the scene… not alone.
My composure falters. Pulse kicks up under my ribcage. Clear manly cologne—something woody and cider, fresh rainforest and calm air—floods my nostrils. Everything seems to move in slow motion when Adrien Aurélien Laurent walks next to Mr. Jonathan.
His long black coat flutters with his steps, eyes catching the gentle warm light of the candles on the wall… blue and green…
"Oh, Beatrice, you are also here." Mr. Jonathan's voice feels like background noise. Adrien's silent, predatory gaze on me feels too intense, as if he can see through my soul with bare eyes.
"Aurélien," Sophia stands straighter, fixing her hair nervously. My expression remains calm, shoulders square, chin up, maintaining the visible height difference between us—which is over a foot.
But inside, I am very aware of how good he smells and how his eyes are staring at me—cold and… dangerous.
"This is my daughter, as you know," Mr. Jonathan proudly introduces Sophia, who extends her hand, shaking slightly when Adrien looks at her. Adrien doesn't shake her hand, just a simple nod.
Mr. Jonathan doesn't seem to mind. His eyes turn to me. "And this one is one of my personal favorite people in the Audit department, Beatrice Kenz. A brilliant young mind."
I smile, professional and practiced in front of the mirror hundreds of times.
"It's an honor to meet you, Vice Chairman Laurent."
He doesn't say anything; the silence is thick with tension. Mr. Jonathan looks at Adrien. "Everything okay?"
Adrien blinks slowly. My hands feel slightly sweaty. Damn it. This man is fucking towering over me. Even Sophia, who was smug all night, looks between me and Adrien cautiously.
"You were the one who found the paper companies run by the former CFO…"
Voice deep like the ocean, smooth accent and perfect articulation. Wait—he knows my name!
My eyes widen slightly; his expression remains unreadable, as if he hadn't just said something utterly unexpected by anyone.
I keep my smile up. "Yes. I happened to do so."
Adrien's lips tug up into a slow smirk, intoxicating and… my sixth sense screams at me to keep my guard up.
"Happened to do so? You talk as if it was luck."
"It was luck and my superior's loyalty toward the company that allowed me to uncover it."
Mr. Jonathan's chest puffs up in pride. Yeah, he is my superior, and last year because of him I was able to look into accounts. He later presented it before the board, which caused the former CFO to get arrested—and let's say he was later found dead in his mansion.
Adrien doesn't say much and gives a slow nod, looking at Mr. Jonathan. "You have eyes for talent."
"That's too much flattery, Aurélien."
Killian walks from behind with two glasses of champagne. "Oh, Mr. Jonathan is here," his eyes fall on Sophia, who smiles at him shyly. "Little Sophy too."
Sophia gasps, cheeks turning red. "I am not little anymore."
Killian laughs. He doesn't seem like the type to overanalyze a woman's reaction, or else he would have noticed that Sophia looks at him shyly…
"Sure, sure. And who might this be?" His eyes dart toward me.
Mr. Jonathan speaks again, "This is Beatrice Kenz, from my audit department."
"Ah, the one who busted the ass of that bastard Ligun."
EVEN HE KNOWS MY NAME!!! I didn't think that random event from last year would make my name fucking known.
I smile at Killian. "Nice to meet you, Vice President Vanderbilt."
His grin widens. "Seems like someone is well trained here."
Adrien's intense gaze on me doesn't falter; if anything, it intensifies when Killian hands him a champagne glass.
After a good two minutes, those three men walk away, and I can finally breathe. My lungs feel like they've been squeezed tight under pressure.
Sophia looks at me. "Lucky you."
"Jealous that my name is known?"
She makes a disgusted face. "You think I would be jealous of a nobody like you?"
I shake my head. Typical Sophia. "Why are you still next to me?"
She blinks rapidly, smugness slightly unsettled. "You looked like some poor, lost girl. I'm just fulfilling the role of a classy woman."
Liar.
You just don't have any friends here.
"I am going to the washroom. Where is it?"
"Do I look like some waiter to you?" she growls. "Haven't you been here so many times?"
She presses her lips tight and huffs in annoyance before leading the way. A small smirk plays on my lips as I follow her. Sophia is easy to understand—just poke the right spots, and she will flatter herself.
Waldorf Astoria is massive: high ceilings, marble floors, dimmed hallways. The sound of the ballroom starts fading; only the echo of our heels remains.
"Stop looking around like some caveman getting introduced to modern civilization."
"I am feeling like that, though," I mumble as we enter the massive female washroom.
She stares at me and sighs dramatically. "Just finish your business."
After five minutes I am done, and as we walk out, something catches my eyes—and nose alike.
A waiter dragging a cart full of cartons, his shoulders wide and build like a boxer, not a waiter. And something drips from his cart.
My nose twitches at the heavy oily petroleum smell. Sophia frowns as I crouch down slightly to touch the substance.
"What are you?"
Sheer amber color, oily but thin enough to flow like water. My eyes widen…
"It's kerosene."
"Huh?"
Kerosene flows on the floor, its clear amber sheen spreading from the cart as the man disappears into the ballroom.
"FUCK! Call your dad right now." I stand up hurriedly, taking off my shoe. Sophia looks at me confused. "But why?"
"THIS IS FUCKING KEROSENE, WOMAN. WE WILL ALL BURN ALIVE!" I shout before running.
Sophia goes pale and instantly calls her dad. Damn it.
This isn't how I wanted to die. I run hard and fast, and this dress feels too tight on my skin.
I pant heavily, panic rising as I can't locate that waiter, but the kerosene is everywhere.
At least 200 people are attending today's ballroom, all more important than the other. A fire here means…
The start of a war.
I look around. I can't find a single security guard—except Adrien, standing in the group of politicians.
This isn't the time to be scared. If someone has been bold enough to plan an arson, they won't leave the doors open for escape.
I push past the crowd, walking on my heels, inhaling sharply as I reach behind Adrien.
"Excuse me."
I tap his shoulder. For a moment, he stiffens before turning around. His eyes narrow slightly. I hurriedly pull out my phone and type:
"There is kerosene all over the floor. A man with tan skin and broad muscular shoulders, dressed as a waiter, is going around with a cart from which kerosene is spreading."
He takes my phone when I hand it to him, expression darkening, jaw tightening with rage. The others look at us curiously.
"Are you sure?" His words come out clipped. I extend my hand, still smelling of kerosene.
He gives my phone back and leans down, his breath warm against my ear. "Who else knows?"
I gulp. "Sophia was with me, so she called Mr. Jonathan. Didn't see any security around, so I came to inform you directly."
Adrien's cologne overwhelms my senses. The darkness in his eyes is dangerous to mess with.
He stands straight, looking at the other men with a charming, practiced smile. "Gentlemen, please enjoy."
They all nod with a tilt of their glass. The sound of piano and cello grows loud enough to make everything seem oddly cinematic. Adrien holds my arm. "Why didn't you leave?"
"Do you think someone who planned an arson so perfectly would leave any loophole for escape?"
He pauses mid-step, calling the head of security. Acknowledged.
"Code Red. Evacuate the ballroom… and there is a pest."
I shiver. The dread in his voice makes him sound like some general born to face war…
And I have a feeling…
I've tangled myself into something I shouldn't have.