The heavy glass doors of the Grand Imperial Hotel parted, and I stepped onto the marble floor like a woman who owned the building, the land beneath it, and the oxygen everyone inside was currently breathing.
My vintage mink coat was heavy on my shoulders, three strands of real pearls clinking against my chest, and my oversized dark sunglasses completely blocking out the dazzling crystal chandeliers.
It was 8:30 PM indoors, but a true Monaco matriarch doesn’t care about indoor lighting.
Julian walked half a step behind me, his hands tucked casually into his charcoal suit pockets.
To the rest of the world, he was the feared, multi-billionaire head of Sterling Enterprises.
To me, he was currently my executive handler, praying I didn’t set the carpet on fire.
“Remember,” Julian muttered under his breath, his lips barely moving as we glided past a liveried doorman.
“You are Lady Sterling.
You haven’t been in this city for six years.
You find everything tacky.” “Got it,” I whispered back, my voice dripping with aristocratic boredom.
“Everyone is poor, everything is ugly, and I am deeply offended by the air quality.” “Perfect.” The ballroom was an absolute sea of tuxedoes, silk gowns, floating champagne trays, and old-money gossip and two hundred of the city’s richest elites were mingling under golden archways.
Almost immediately, a overly eager waiter in a crisp white uniform marched up to us, holding out a silver tray.
“Good evening, ma’am!
Would you care for a glass of our finest vintage champagne?” I stopped dead in my tracks.
I slowly lowered my dark sunglasses to the tip of my nose, squinting at the glass like it contained biohazardous waste.
“Young man,” I said, pitching my voice into a raspy, booming, European-tinted drawl that echoed across the nearby crowd.
“Is this champagne…
domestic?” The waiter blinked, instantly sweating.
“U-um, it’s from Northern California, ma’am—” “Mon Dieu,” I gasped, clutching my pearls with a gloved hand and staggering back half a step into Julian’s chest.
“California?
Do I look like a woman who hydrates on tap water from North America?
Take it away!
Take it away before my complexion breaks out in poverty!” Julian’s hand firm against the small of my back, steadying me.
I felt the sharp vibration of his chest as he suppressed a violent cough that was ninety percent a laugh.
“My apologies,” Julian said smoothly to the traumatized waiter, who was already sprinting away with his tray.
“Her palate is…
delicate.” “He was trying to poison me, Julian,” I hissed loudly, pushing my sunglasses back up.
“I bet he doesn’t even wash his hands after touching American grapes.” Nearby, three elderly socialites wearing diamond tiaras turned to stare at me in utter, stunned silence.
Instead of looking away, I turned my head, glared at them through my dark lenses, and let out a loud, disappointed sigh.
“The dress code tonight is tragically forgiving,” I announced to nobody in particular.
“That blue silk gown on the left looks like a modified curtain from a three-star motel.” The woman in the blue gown gasped so hard she choked on her olive.
“She’s magnificent,” a voice whispered from behind a decorative palm tree.
I turned.
Standing in the shadows near the chocolate fountain was a tiny, delicate girl in a soft blush-pink dress.
She had big, tear-filled doe eyes, trembling hands, and a diamond necklace that looked entirely too heavy for her slender neck.
This was Chloe Sterling.
The twenty-year-old heiress.
The victim.
Behind her stood a guy with slicked-back hair, an aggressive amount of cheap cologne floating around him, and a tailored tuxedo that was bursting at the seams because he clearly bought it a size too small to flex his no muscle fat ego.
Devon Vance.
The fortune-hunting parasite.
Devon had one hand gripped tightly around Chloe’s elbow, leaning in close and whispering in her ear with a fake, greasy smile.
Chloe looked like she wanted to melt through the floorboards and disappear into the sewer system.
“He’s cornering her,” I whispered to Julian.
“Look at him.
He looks like a greasy car salesman trying to sell a stolen sedan.” “He’s about to propose,” Julian noted, his voice dropping into a dangerous, icy tone.
“Look at his left pocket.
There’s a velvet ring box.” “Not on my watch,” I said.
I grabbed a plate of miniature crab cakes from a passing tray, hoisted my heavy mink coat, and began marching straight toward them like an armored tank entering a peaceful village.
“Chloe, darling!” I wailed at the top of my lungs, cutting straight through the string quartet’s performance.
“My sweet, precious, foolish little dove!” The entire left side of the ballroom fell dead silent.
Chloe flinched, looking up in sheer terror as a five-foot-four woman in a silver wig, giant sunglasses, and a mink coat swept toward her like a localized hurricane.
Devon frowned, his eyes narrowing as he tried to figure out who was interrupting his big moment.
“U-um,” Chloe stammered, shrinking back.
“Excuse me?” I didn’t wait.
I reached out, grabbed Chloe by her delicate shoulders, pulled her into my mink coat, and gave her a dramatic, theatrical double-kiss on both cheeks.
“Oh, look at you!” I cried, holding her at arm’s length and examining her face with intense, dramatic tragedy.
“You look so thin!
Are they feeding you?
Has your uncle Julian been keeping you on a budget of dry bread and rainwater?!” From behind me, Julian let out a quiet, tired sigh, but wisely stayed silent.
Chloe stared at me, her big doe eyes wide with utter confusion.
“I…
I eat three meals a day?” “Lies!
You’re skin and bones!” I declared, immediately grabbing a miniature crab cake off my plate and shoving it directly toward her mouth.
“Eat this!
It has protein!
A Sterling woman cannot survive on air and anxiety!” Devon stepped forward, clearing his throat loudly with a smug, patronizing smile.
He placed a possessive hand on Chloe’s waist.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” Devon said, his voice dripping with condescending charm.
“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.
I am Devon Vance, of the Vance Shipping Dynasty.
And Chloe and I were actually in the middle of a very private, very romantic moment—” I turned my head very, very slowly.
I lowered my sunglasses down to the tip of my nose once again.
I looked at his slicked-back hair.
I looked at his tight tuxedo jacket.
Then I looked down at his leather shoes, let out a disgusted snort, and looked back up.
“What,” I said, my voice deadpan and flat, “is that smell?” Devon’s fake smile faltered.
“Pardon?” “That smell,” I repeated, fanning the air in front of my face with a gloved hand.
“It smells like a discount pharmacy threw up on a secondhand rug.
Are you wearing cologne, young man, or did you bathe in mosquito repellent before coming to a five-star gala?” A quiet, muffled snicker erupted from a group of wealthy businessmen standing nearby.
Devon’s face turned a violent, bright shade of red.
“It is imported French cologne!
It costs four hundred dollars a bottle!” “Then you were robbed,” I said simply, pushing my sunglasses back up.
“Because you smell like a desperate tax fraud.” “Who do you think you are?!” Devon snapped, his polished manners instantly slipping away.
“You can’t just walk up here and insult—” “I am Lady Sterling!” I boomed, slamming my palm down onto a nearby cocktail table so hard the champagne flutes rattled.
“Your future nightmare, you glorified canoe salesman!” Devon froze.
“Canoe…
canoe salesman?!” “Do not raise your voice at my mother!” Chloe suddenly piped up.
I stopped.
Julian stopped.
Even Devon stopped.
We all looked at Chloe.
The gentle, soft-spoken, terrified heiress was standing tall, her eyes sparkling with absolute, unhinged joy.
She looked at my mink coat, looked at my sunglasses, and then looked at Devon with pure venom.
“She is my long-lost adoptive mother from Monaco!” Chloe announced proudly to the entire surrounding crowd, grabbing my arm and hugging it tightly.
“And if she says you smell like mosquito spray, Devon, then you smell like mosquito spray!” Oh, I love this girl, I thought, my heart melting behind my fake wrinkles.
She’s a natural.
“Chloe, sweetie, be reasonable,” Devon stammered, sweating through his collar as fifty pairs of high-society eyes locked onto him.
“I was just about to ask you an important question—” He reached into his pocket, pulling out the small red velvet box.
“Oh, look!” I shrieked, pointing at the box like it was a live grenade.
“He brought a ring!
Let me see!” Before Devon could open his mouth, I snatched the velvet box straight out of his hand.
“Hey!
Give that back!” Devon yelled, reaching for it.
I dodged him with a smooth stage-combat sidestep, popping the box open under the bright chandelier light.
Inside sat a modest, one-carat diamond ring.
I stared at it.
I held it up to the light.
Then, I let out a laugh so loud, so brassy, and so utterly disrespectful that the string quartet stopped playing altogether.
“Mon Dieu!” I howled, holding the ring out for the nearby billionaires to see.
“Look at this!
Is this a diamond, or did you pry a piece of glass off an old chandelier?!” “It is a genuine diamond!” Devon shrieked, his voice cracking.
“It’s tiny!” I shouted back, waving my hand dismissively.
“My late husband Archibald used bigger diamonds on his dog’s collar!
Julian, look at this!
Look at what this pauper is offering our sweet Chloe!” Julian stepped forward, stepping right alongside me like a dark, looming shadow.
He glanced down at the ring, then looked up at Devon with cold, brutal disgust.
“It lacks clarity,” Julian said smoothly, playing his part with terrifying perfection.
“And the cut is cheap.
Just like your family’s shipping accounts.” “Your family business,” I added, stepping closer to Devon and poking him hard in the chest with my gloved finger, “is six million dollars in debt!
You haven’t bought a new cargo ship since 1994!
You don’t want Chloe!
You want her trust fund to buy new propellers for your rusty boats!” Gasps rippled through the crowd like wild fire.
“How…
how do you know about our debt?!” Devon whispered, his face turning pale as a ghost.
“Because I am a Sterling!” I lied triumphantly, throwing my arms into the air.
“We know everything!
We see everything!
And we do not marry men who wear tight suits and buy cheap rocks!” Devon looked around the room.
Every single high-society family was staring at him, whispering, laughing, and shaking their heads.
His reputation, his scheme, and his fake-prince persona were completely obliterated in under six minutes.
“You…
you people are insane!” Devon yelled, his face purple with humiliation.
“I’m leaving!” “Don’t forget your mosquito spray!” I shouted after him as he turned on his heel and sprinted out of the ballroom, tripping slightly over the red carpet edge on his way out.
Silence fell over the room for two glorious seconds.
Then, Chloe looked at me, let out a loud, breathless laugh, and threw her arms around my neck, burying her face in my fake mink coat.
“Thank you, Mother,” Chloe whispered, her body shaking with pure relief and giggles.
“He was so annoying.” “You’re welcome, darling,” I whispered back, patting her hair while subtly checking my watch.
8:45 PM.
I had been on the job for fifteen minutes.
I had humiliated a fortune hunter, destroyed a shipping legacy, adopted a billionaire’s niece, and I still had three hours and fifteen minutes left on my contract.
I looked up over Chloe’s shoulder.
Julian was standing right there, staring at me.
His dark eyes were wide, his composure completely shattered, and for the first time since I met him, the ice-cold billionaire was looking at me like I was the most dangerous, hilarious, and utterly captivating creature he had ever encountered in his life.
(•_•) Roxie really went hot on Devon, and Chloe playing along was the absolute best!
But the real victory?
Getting the ice-cold Julian Sterling to finally crack.
The billionaire is officially intrigued.
What was your favorite insult from Roxie’s Monaco matriarch persona?
(I’m personally a fan of the “discount pharmacy” cologne ( > ▽ < ) ).
Let me know your favorite moment in the comments!