In the glittering world of fame and fortune, five individuals from diverse backgrounds find their lives intertwined by the pursuit of success, love, and the secrets that bind them together.
★ 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐚 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐯𝐚 is a successful model who e...
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Wes sat in the small private airplane, quietly seething with self-loathing. He had spent the whole day pondering the conversation with his mother. He had always been convinced that his parents never truly saw him, that he had become nothing more than a product for them to flaunt to their acquaintances. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that the alienation was mutual. He couldn't get close, couldn't open up. It was as if everyone else was on a different wavelength. His mother was right. He had no real friends, and there were moments when he felt terribly alone. He loved solitude, yet it also crushed him.
He ran his fingers through his brown hair and looked out of the airplane window. Below him stretched out the vast city, known for never sleeping: New York. He had never considered it his home.
His mother had been calling him every day until he weakly promised to attend the art exhibition organized by his parents. Inside, he felt anxiety. He hated social events of any kind. But perhaps it was time to at least pretend for a while that he was normal. One evening in his parents' company wouldn't kill him.
When the plane touched down on the runway, he felt goosebumps all over his body. He gathered all his resolve and prepared for what awaited him.
He didn't want to stay overnight at his parents' apartment, so he checked into the Park Hyatt Hotel, which was furnished in modern minimalism. He found this style much more appealing than the classic New York ostentation.
A few hours later, as he entered the gallery, he immediately felt the curious gazes of people. He knew his arrival would cause a quiet sensation.
Wes Larsen. That Wes Larsen. The billionaire. The genius. The technological visionary. And the eccentric who avoided human company. He was wearing an elegant custom-tailored tuxedo, but he felt uncomfortable in it.
"Sweetheart! There you are," greeted him Helen Larsen, making sure to affectionately kiss him on the forehead in front of the guests, among whom were several renowned journalists.
Wes forced a smile as the first of many camera flashes blinded him. It seemed his mother was determined to use every second in his presence to gain publicity. "Hello, mother."
"Your father can't wait to see you. He's just introducing Daphne to some important people," she said, leading him into the center of the large room.
Aaron F. Larsen and the young woman by his side were surrounded by a group of people. His father, a sixty-year-old art collector, had until recently considered his son an absolute disappointment. Throughout his life, Wes couldn't recall having more than a few bare sentences exchanged between them. He was a graying man with prominent cheekbones, deep-set eyes, and a colorful reputation as a womanizer.
"Hello, father, good to see you," they greeted each other with a formal handshake. Aaron F. Larsen embodied formality.
"Son, how are you doing? I heard your company is thriving," his father thoroughly looked him over, his gaze stopping at Wes's suit, which he had tailored by Ralph Lauren specifically for this occasion. He seemed satisfied with what he saw.
