This time, Sanna had chosen to make a change. Instead of holding the celebration inside one of the sprawling manors further inland, she had opted for something even more striking: a luxurious restaurant perched high above Notting Hill City.
The location itself was famous. It sat in the district known as Yellow Mountain, a place named for the golden flowers that bloomed along its ridges every spring. From the beaches below, one could look up and see the slopes glowing faintly in the distance, a natural crown for the city. It was also one of the most affluent neighborhoods in the entire region. Those who lived there or hosted events in its venues did so as a statement.
The exclusivity wasn't only because of its beauty. Yellow Mountain was notorious for its prices. Restaurants, banquet halls, and entertainment spaces charged outrageous fees that only the truly wealthy could pay. For most, the thought of booking a table there was laughable, let alone renting an entire establishment for a private event. And yet, Sanna Curts had managed exactly that.
Atop the mountain stood a half-skyscraper, an architectural curiosity. Designed deliberately, the building reached the same height as the skyscrapers downtown, but because of its foundation in the mountain's side, it didn't need to be fully built from the ground up. The upper levels jutted out into the skyline, and at its very peak, there was a revolving restaurant. Guests there were treated to a panoramic view of the glittering city on one side and the wild, rolling hills on the other.
That revolving restaurant, on this particular evening, belonged entirely to Sanna. She had used every ounce of her connections and influence to secure it. It was the perfect stage to present her daughter to society, not just as a graduate, but as a woman ready to step into the next phase of her life.
Already, the venue bustled with activity. Sleek cars pulled into the mountain's parking complex, and valets in sharp uniforms whisked them away. Guests filtered inside, greeted with champagne flutes and trays of artfully arranged appetizers. At least a hundred affluent figures were present, not just from the city but from other corners of the country as well.
As Sanna had predicted, the highest-ranking patriarchs and matriarchs hadn't come in person. Instead, they sent their chosen representatives, young heirs capable of navigating delicate social games, or trusted associates who could charm without offending. The air buzzed with conversation, introductions, and the subtle weighing of one another's worth.
It was into this glittering world that Sheri Curts finally entered.
The large double doors at the far end of the restaurant swung open, and every head turned. They were meant for entertainers or performers to make grand entrances, but this time they framed Sheri herself.
She moved slowly but with confidence, each step commanding attention. Her dress was breathtaking, form-fitting, elegant, and designed with a dramatic flourish. From the back trailed a rose-like pattern of fabric, flowing behind her like a crimson bloom brushing across the floor. Every man and woman in the hall turned to look, not just at her beauty, but at the brilliance glinting from her neck.
The jewel.
"Am I imagining things," one man murmured, "or is that the Ruby Canel?"
The voice belonged to Anton Stable, a tall man in a sharp blue suit who stood near one of the cocktail tables, glass of wine in hand. The Stable family owned a chain of luxury vehicle dealerships, a business where charm and charisma were as necessary as money. Anton, the son of that family, had both.
"Doesn't that piece of jewelry cost a million on its own?" his companion asked.
This was Christopher Owens, skin bronzed by vacations abroad, his curly hair perfectly styled, his tan suit tailored to match his complexion. Christopher belonged to the Owens family, whose fortune had been built generations ago through health insurance. Though the family had since moved away from directly running the business, their wealth remained vast, and their modern role was simply to advise and invest.
The two young men weren't alone in their astonishment. Across the room, hushed whispers spread like wildfire as eyes tracked the glinting ruby.
"I heard the Curts family was broke," someone said.
"Didn't they nearly collapse before being rescued?" another voice chimed in.
"Then how is she flaunting something like that?"
Anton narrowed his eyes. He had known the Curts family well enough to understand their financial struggles. Truth be told, he had even harbored feelings for Sheri once. He'd wanted to help her when things looked dire, had even pressed his family to extend them a lifeline. But the Stables refused, calling it a waste of resources.
With the state they had been in, Anton was certain the Curts family would have sold off every valuable they owned. Yet here was Sheri, parading one of the most famous necklaces in existence.
He frowned. Either they had recovered in ways no one expected… or that necklace had come from elsewhere.
Sheri herself seemed oblivious to the storm she'd caused. She moved gracefully, greeting groups of guests with polite words, thanking them for attending. Eventually, her path led her toward Anton and Christopher's table.
"You look stunning, truly stunning," Christopher said at once, his easy smile flashing. "But I can't help noticing the necklace. Where on earth did you get such a thing?"
Anton's tone was cooler, though no less direct. "Yes. Quite the rare piece. Are you sure it's not fake?"
Before Sheri could answer, a laugh rang out. Loud, confident, and cutting.
Sanna Curts herself had joined them, sweeping into the conversation like a queen. Her dress glittered with sequins, her posture commanding. She held a glass of champagne as though it were a scepter.
"Fake?" she scoffed, her voice carrying. "If you really think it's fake, then by all means, check it yourself. That, gentlemen, is no imitation. That is a gift from none other than the Billion Bloodline Group."