Chapter 7 The Red Carpet and the Wager

Victoria‘s POV

As I stepped out of the elevator, the system interface opened in front of me, and a line surfaced: the Apex Protocol has detected the attributes of the current outing—first attendance at a top-tier social occasion; the Luxury vault has unlocked a vehicle option—the Lamborghini Concept S., five finished cars worldwide, one of which you hold. Activation recommended.

I stopped, opened the vehicle file, glanced through it, closed it, touched the clasp of my handbag, and said one word to Evelyn, waiting at the far end of the corridor, "Change the car."

She asked nothing and went straight to the underground garage. I turned back toward the elevator and added, "Tell Morgan she isn't riding along tonight."

When the car was ready, I got in and looked at the water-blue column gown in the mirror, the hem swinging out an arc with the movement. Tonight was only a party to me; I was going because that invitation was worth the trip.

The car came to a stop, and Evelyn opened the door. I took her raised arm and stepped down, the toe of my shoe touching the red carpet. Under the portico, a few young people had their necks out, and one of them—a striking-looking young man—recognized the badge first and blurted, "Concept S? There are only five of those in the world." His voice wasn't loud, but it had weight; the conversation in the garden stopped dead, and then came several indrawn breaths, kept low and failing to stay low.

On the steps someone was running down with her skirt gathered in one hand, smoke-pink highlighted hair swinging with each step—young, clean, with a touch of girlishness, and something sharper pressing beneath those eyes. She took one of my hands in both of hers, the apology in her voice genuine, and said her welcome.

I looked down at it, didn't pull back, and returned the grip. "It's I who should thank Miss Astrid for the invitation."

She took my arm instead and said lightly that she would introduce me to the guests. I walked with her, neither refusing nor cooperating in any particular way. I skimmed those eyes—calculation, expectation, appraisal, all present, all lying on the surface; beneath it there was another layer I hadn't made out yet. Worth another look.

At seven exactly, she went up on the small stage, said a few words of thanks, then jumped straight down off it in her pale pink heels and the room gasped. She landed solid, bounced to my side, took my hand, and announced to the whole hall that I was her new good friend and a St. Blair underclassman.

The attention pressed in from every side, and a few scraps of talk rose first, and although they kept their voices carefully down, not one line failed to drift into my ear—"The second Vanderbilt girl vouching for her in person—that's her whole standing on the table." "Two weeks of digging and they turned up nothing, and she puts her at the head table." "Are we certain she isn't a front someone built with money?"

A woman with long golden hair was the first to speak, her voice quiet and very sharp: "Miss Victoria, which branch of the Sterlings are you?" She smiled politely. "We looked for two weeks. You, on the other hand, look like you were printed today."

The hall went quiet. The arm I had linked with Astrid's tightened in the crook of my elbow, her smile not slipping by a hair, and she was opening her mouth to answer that woman—I asked back first: "How long did you investigate?"

"Two weeks."

"Then keep investigating."

When my words landed, the room felt as though a layer of air had been drawn out of it. A low male laugh sounded. The golden-haired woman moved her glass to her other hand and stepped back half a pace, which was the smallest concession this room permitted.

Only then did the applause start. Behind me, someone added quietly, "She says keep investigating, and we truly won't find anything more." The speaker seemed to take an elbow from a companion, and the sentence broke off halfway.

I didn't look again at the woman who had asked on purpose. I was looking at Astrid—that flash a moment ago sat oddly against my first impression of her; I had assumed she would be steadier, and she was more real than I had expected. Real was rare in a room like this one.

The music changed. She turned to me, blinked once, and asked whether I would dance the first dance with her.

"Of course."

I took her waist. She circled me on small, quick steps, a turn of the hip opening and closing the hem, the ring of white stones on her blue heels rolling out a thread of light under the ceiling lights. People along the edge of the floor were watching; I paid those looks no mind. I was watching her.

As the piece drew to its end, she leaned into me and lifted her head. In that instant I saw clearly the layer I had missed at first—not calculation, not expectation: she did not want to be married off, she did not want to live on dividends, she wanted the key that only the strong could take.

Before I knew it, I had spoken, low enough for two people only: "Miss Astrid, I'm about to fall for you."

She stared for a second, then smiled, the corners of her eyes curving: "So am I."

Then her hand tightened half an inch on my shoulder, her gaze going past me to the second floor, her smile not diminished by a fraction, her voice teasing: "Do you want to play something fun?"

The door of the second-floor lounge was not yet fully open when a woman's voice came from inside. "Miss Astrid has kept us waiting long enough." The tone was amused and dragged a little toward the frivolous, though the certainty underneath it weighed more.

A long-haired woman stepped forward and offered her hand, her smile even, her grip firmer than expected. "Miss Victoria. I've heard a great deal about you. It's a pleasure."

"Natalia."

Her eyes curved; she had not expected me to know her. Natalia Sinclair, eldest daughter of the head of Sinclair Properties, one of the three largest developers in the country. Her presence in that room surprised no one. The speed of that outstretched hand did.

The other was Ophelia Ashford, heir to Ashford Technologies, who raised her eyes with composure when Astrid introduced her briefly, wearing the calm of someone who has seen too much to be impressed by anything.

After our contact details went around. Two chairs stood empty at the center of the table, and no one took them. Among the people standing along the wall, a young man had already picked up a tray and filled the champagne flutes, doing it with meticulous care, as though entirely accustomed to the position.

Astrid dropped into the seat at the head of the table and stretched. "That's the last of the people I had to get through today." I sat at her left. "So you brought me up here to hide from the socializing," Natalia answered from across the table, laughing, that the Vanderbilts loved this above all things, and that the rest of them had the sense to have hidden up here long ago.

After the conversation had gone a few rounds, Astrid called for the gifts, and the butler carried the parcels in. Mine sat on top, and mine was opened first.

Her fingers pressed along the folded edge of the pink paper, and her face had already softened. When the paper came fully away, I watched her stop for a moment — a pink diamond necklace with matching earrings and a bracelet, silver settings, the pink so pale it was very nearly transparent.

"Oh —" She picked up the bracelet, color rising into her face. "Oh, Victoria, I love it, I love it." She jumped up and had the butler waiting beside her fasten the whole set, then lifted her head to show me.

Natalia and Ophelia exchanged a look, brief, but I saw it. They understood it as well — this was not something money alone could buy, and being able to buy it meant real command over a scarce asset of this kind.

Astrid turned the bracelet slowly on her wrist. After a moment, her voice quieted.

"Victoria, I've always wanted a true friend. Maybe we can become real friends?"

I didn't answer. I only looked at her. That was enough.

The bell of the small hours came in from the courtyard. I stood and gathered myself, then turned to her. "Astrid — the something fun. It's this late already. Let me see it."

Her eyes lit. She looked back at Natalia and Ophelia and gave them a signal, and they came in from either side and put their hands on my shoulders at the same moment. Astrid's smile was full; she lowered her voice.

"Come along, Victoria — let me show you my real birthday surprise."