Celestial Private Room

The grand entrance of the Opera House echoed with the sound of Bryce erupting into loud, mocking laughter at Vance's bold declaration. Bryce clutched his stomach, his shoulders shaking as he pointed a trembling finger at his brother-in-law.

"Are you out of your mind?" Bryce gasped, struggling to catch his breath. "Have the millions in debt made you completely crazy? What do you mean there's a million in here? I'd believe you if you said it was a hundred pounds of old newspaper. But a million cash? In that?"

Watching Vance stand calmly by his rusty bicycle, Audrey felt a massive surge of helpless, crushing disappointment wash over her. She stared at the dirty gunny sack resting against Preston's expensive shoes. Why is my husband still acting like a complete fool? she wondered, her chest tightening. What is the point of putting on this ridiculous charade just to protect his fragile, bruised male ego? Is this even the Vance Kensington I know? The man she remembered would never stoop to such pathetic public stunts.

She shook her head, the last shred of her patience dissolving into the cool night air. She turned to Preston, her voice carrying a defeated, hollow tone. "It's time. Let's go in. The concert is starting soon."

Preston smirked, his eyes gleaming with triumphant amusement. He gently kicked the dirty canvas bag with the toe of his shoe. He cast a casual glance over his shoulder. "Bryce, bring the bag. Let's just take the trash along with us so we can humor Vance and pretend he actually cleared his debt tonight."

Audrey didn't protest. She subconsciously lifted her head, her eyes meeting Preston's for a fleeting second before she walked toward the entrance. That brief moment of submission made Preston's smirk widen into a full-blown grin of victory. Bryce grumbled under his breath but bent down, hauling the heavy, dust-covered sack off the concrete.

Chloe, Bryce's delinquent girlfriend, didn't follow them immediately. She lingered behind, crossing her arms over her chest. Her disdain for Vance practically radiated from her skin, a physical force that hung heavily in the air between them.

Vance watched Audrey walk away, his expression remaining a mask of stone. He turned his attention to Chloe. "Spit it out."

Chloe's lips curled into an ugly sneer. "Vance, just give up on Audrey. Spare her the misery. How about you do something useful for once and file a divorce with her tomorrow?"

Vance casually slid his hands into his pockets. He nonchalantly raised an eyebrow, his voice dangerously even. "Why should I do that?"

Chloe scoffed loudly, rolling her eyes toward the starless sky. "Because you don't deserve her. Look at yourself. You can't even enter the opera house tonight to see Harper perform. You're stuck out here on the pavement." She gestured grandly toward the opulent entrance. "On the contrary, look at Preston. Not only does he have the right to enter this venue, but he holds four premium tickets. Audrey will finally get the life she deserves if she marries him. But what can she possibly get when she's tied down to you? Millions in crushing debt?"

A cold, sharp smirk played on Vance's lips. His dark gaze pierced straight through her shallow facade, reading her true motives like an open book. "And most importantly," Vance said, his tone dripping with quiet venom, "it's because you can get what you want out of it as well. Am I right?"

Chloe didn't flinch. She didn't even bother to deny the accusation. She tossed her hair over her shoulder, a look of smug pride settling on her features. "Why does it matter? Preston treats Audrey, Bryce, and me like royalty. He has immense generosity and incredible wealth. Plus, I already have my own house and car. You are simply too useless as a brother-in-law. You drag everyone down." She took a step back, preparing to leave. "That's all I have to say to you. You better look out for yourself, Vance."

Without waiting for his response, she spun on her heel and jogged off to catch up with the others.

Chloe hurried toward the opulent, velvet-lined entrance of the opera house. But as she neared the marble steps, she suddenly froze in sheer awe. Her jaw dropped.

A fleet of massive, custom-made Rolls-Royces glided to a smooth halt directly in front of the VIP entrance. The sheer presence of the vehicles commanded the immediate attention of everyone nearby. A chauffeur hurried out to open the rear door of the lead car. An elderly gentleman stepped out, leaning heavily on a polished wooden cane. Despite his age, he carried a formidable, undeniable aura of authority. It was Winston Rutherford, the undisputed wealthiest man in all of Oakhaven.

Following closely behind the Rolls-Royces was a roaring, scarlet-red Aston Martin boasting a forty-eight-million-dollar market value. The door swung open, and Diana Maxwell stepped into the ambient glow of the streetlights. Clad in a stunning red gown that hugged her curves, the city's most powerful businesswoman looked every bit the titan she was.

Chloe gasped, quickly ducking behind a thick marble pillar. She pressed her back against the cool stone, her heart pounding against her ribs. She had only ever seen these two titans on the covers of financial magazines and on the news. Encountering them in person felt surreal. She peeked around the edge of the pillar, eagerly eavesdropping on the conversation.

"Mr. Rutherford, please wait," Diana's authoritative voice rang out, clear and sharp.

Winston paused on the steps and turned around. He offered a respectful nod. "Oh, it is you, Ms. Maxwell. What can I do for you this evening?"

Diana closed the distance between them. "It's about the Northridge E-commerce District project you mentioned to me. What is your final decision?"

Winston shook his head slowly, a deep, respectful tone entering his voice. "The Northridge E-commerce District is a massive undertaking. Five hundred and thirty thousand square meters. It holds a highly coveted thirty-billion-dollar market value." He paused, his expression turning solemn. "I will not be making the decision. I will have my master discuss the business with you personally."

Diana visibly stiffened, stunned by the revelation. "Your master? All right. Please, give me his contact information then."

Behind the pillar, Chloe's eyes widened to the size of saucers. Her mind raced. Goodness gracious! The wealthiest man in Oakhaven actually answers to a master? How much wealth and power could this unknown master possibly possess? The realization hit her like a freight train. Winston owned the Oakhaven Opera House. Which meant, by extension, this mysterious master was the true owner of the very building they were standing before.

"My master is incredibly young," Winston continued, his tone carrying a warning edge. "He is only twenty-seven years old this year. I hope you will communicate with him frequently, Ms. Maxwell, and tread carefully."

Winston cast an odd, piercing glance at Diana before reaching into his tailored suit. He extracted a sleek, black business card and handed it over.

As Winston held out the card, the ambient lighting from the theater marquee caught the golden embossed numbers on the black matte surface. From her safe distance behind the pillar, an elated Chloe squinted. Relying on her incredible 20/20 eyesight, the golden numbers flashed in the light, and Chloe instantly locked them into her memory. She repeated the string of digits in her head over and over until they were burned into her brain.

Diana accepted the card with extreme care, slipping it into her designer purse before walking inside.

Chloe leaned back against the pillar, a wicked, ambitious smile spreading across her face. Her chest heaved. He is twenty-seven. He owns the richest man in the city. Her heart pounded wildly. She instantly began dreaming of seducing this unknown young titan, marrying into unimaginable, god-like wealth, and leaving Bryce and his measly connections in the dust. Completely unaware of who the master truly was, Chloe smoothed her dress and confidently strutted into the opera house.

Meanwhile, outside the plaza, Vance stood by his bicycle for a few moments longer. His deep frustration slowly simmered down, replaced by a cold, calculated resolve. He left his bicycle chained to a nearby rack and approached the grand doors of the entrance.

Just as his foot touched the first marble step, a sharp voice cut through the air. "Halt. Right there."

Vance looked up to see a snobby usherette stepping directly into his path. She wore a tailored uniform, her arms crossed defensively. He recognized her instantly. It was Monica Bates, his former high school classmate.

Monica narrowed her eyes, meticulously sizing up his plain, cheap clothes with extreme prejudice. She remembered the high school days when silly rumors circulated about them being a couple. Now, looking at his unbranded attire, she felt nothing but smug superiority.

"Vance Kensington?" Monica furrowed her brows, letting a heavy sigh escape her lips. "I need to see your admission ticket."

"I don't have a ticket," Vance muttered, his patience wearing incredibly thin.

Monica's disdain deepened. She physically stepped closer, her posture rigid, barring his entry completely. "I'm sorry, then. You are not allowed to enter this venue. I need you to leave the premises immediately before I call security to escort you out."

The lingering annoyance from his family's mockery flared into open hostility. Vance fixed his dark gaze on her. "Get lost."

Monica's face twisted into an ugly sneer. She raised her voice, intentionally drawing the attention of the surrounding crowd. "Mind your attitude, Vance! Everyone who visits this place today is an esteemed guest. What makes you think you have the right to enter? Where do you even get your ridiculous confidence from?"

Another usherette, standing a few feet away, smugly chimed in. She flashed a mocking smile at Vance. "Sir, please refrain from causing a scene. Monica's boyfriend is highly powerful and deeply connected. He could easily ruin you. This might be the last time you ever get this close to Monica. Soon, you'll only be seeing her face on the big screens."

Vance felt a muscle twitch in his jaw. He shifted his weight, preparing to physically remove these obstacles from his path.

Before he could take a single step forward, the heavy mahogany entrance doors burst open with a loud crash.

A frantic young woman with a sharp bob cut rushed out into the lobby. It was Harper Quinn's highly capable manager. She was breathing heavily, her eyes sweeping the entrance until they landed on the scene unfolding.

The manager stalked forward. She glared menacingly at the terrified usherettes. The sheer fury in her eyes promised severe punishment. Monica and her colleague instantly lowered their heads, their arrogant smirks melting into pale fear. They didn't dare utter a single syllable.

Then, the manager turned her gaze to Vance. In the span of a heartbeat, her entire demeanor shifted. The menacing fury vanished, replaced instantly by a cheerful, overly respectful grin.

"You're here?" she greeted loudly, her voice dripping with reverence. "The show is starting soon. Please enter and maintain the order of the venue."

Hearing the specific phrasing, Monica let out a massive, shuddering sigh of relief. The tension drained from her rigid shoulders. She leaned close to her colleague and loudly mumbled, "Oh, thank God. Looks like he is merely a cheap security guard hired for crowd control. Maintain the order. Typical."

Vance ignored the usherettes entirely. He walked past Monica, stepping through the grand mahogany doors. The manager followed closely behind.

As soon as they stepped past the doors and out of sight, leaving the lobby behind, the manager stopped dead in her tracks. She squared her shoulders and formally prepared to salute him, treating him with the deference reserved for royalty.

Vance immediately held up a hand, stopping her gesture before she could complete it.

"It's fine. Don't do that," he said flatly. "Where's my private room?"

"Right this way," the manager replied swiftly, her tone hushed with extreme reverence.

She escorted him through a hidden, heavily guarded hallway. Security personnel stood at strict attention, nodding slightly as Vance passed. She led him through the priority lane, a path wrapped in velvet ropes and lined with imported marble, far away from the regular audience seats.

They stepped into a private glass elevator that smoothly ascended above the main theater. The doors chimed softly, opening into a secluded corridor. At the end of the hall stood a set of towering double doors adorned with intricate gold leaf patterns.

The manager pushed the heavy doors open, revealing the Celestial Private Room. It was an exclusive, impossibly luxurious sanctuary suspended high above the stage. Inside, plush velvet seating, crystal chandeliers, and a private wet bar awaited. A massive, floor-to-ceiling one-way mirror provided a commanding, unobstructed view of the entire theater below, while ensuring absolute privacy from the thousands of eyes looking up.

It was a space reserved solely for Oakhaven's absolute most distinguished figures. And tonight, as Vance stepped onto the thick, imported rug, he stood in a room which had never been used a single time since the building's lavish renovation.

Vance walked up to the tinted glass, staring down at the sprawling sea of seats below. The quiet, powerful satisfaction of hidden dominance settled deep within his chest, replacing the earlier frustration. The stage was set.