"Girl, it’s your birthday today—cheers!"
"Happy 18th to our little fairy queen!"
"Clara, this is for you. It’s not super expensive, but I picked it with care, okay? Don’t turn your nose up at it!"
"Thanks." Clara Grant gave a small smile, effortlessly accepting all the toasts and gifts pouring in from every direction. The couch beside her was already piled up with pretty packages tied in colorful ribbons.
She had just turned twenty-five today, and after dinner, her girlfriends dragged her to this new club for some birthday fun.
The place? A not-yet-open club owned by one of those rich second-gen guys from their circle.
"Hey, Miss Grant, maybe slow down a bit, yeah?" Nina Teale couldn’t help but speak up when she saw Clara clinking glasses with everyone like a champ. "Don’t go overboard."
"Come on, you know I can handle my liquor. If Tsingtao doesn’t drop me, I’m not going anywhere. If Snow Beer doesn’t fall, neither do I." Clara grinned, swirling her glass and raising it toward a familiar face across the table.
Nina rolled her eyes but chose to drop it, changing the subject instead. "So... what did your knockoff husband get you this year?"
"No clue. His assistant had someone deliver it to the villa this morning. I haven’t bothered to open it yet." Clara glanced lazily at the mountain of gifts beside her, clearly not all that interested.
"Tch, are you kidding me? Didn’t he get you that fully diamond-studded bracelet last year? Worth like, ten million or something? And you’re not even curious this time?"
"What’s there to be curious about? If it’s under ten mil, he wouldn’t even bother wrapping it."
"...Girl." Nina was speechless. "Can you shut that evil capitalist mouth of yours just for one night?"
Clara raised an eyebrow and gave her a nonchalant look. After a beat of silence, she added, "To be honest, that gift probably wasn’t even picked out by him. Your limited edition figurine feels more thoughtful, at least."
Nina looked scandalized. "You’re seriously comparing my under-three-thousand-dollar figurine to a ten-million-dollar diamond bracelet?!"
"What’s wrong with three grand? That represents like, half your monthly paycheck, doesn’t it?" Clara huffed. "Meanwhile, that sorry excuse for a husband couldn’t even be bothered to make a damn birthday call. If we’re talking about actual care, which one really counts?"
Nina looked kind of touched, but still tried to defend herself. "My paycheck’s not *that* low, okay? I just got a raise this year."
"Oh? A raise, huh? What are you making now?"
"Fifteen K."
"...That’s not *really* a big raise though."
Nina: …It’s literally more than double! I used to make six K!
Clearly, her broke little salaried self still couldn’t wrap her head around rich people logic.
I mean, sure there’s heart in that figurine, but let’s face it, it's still just three thousand bucks. Can it really go toe-to-toe with a gift worth ten freakin’ million?Those gifts piled up like a mini-mountain on the couch—unwrapping just about any of them revealed something way pricier than her collection of figurines.
…
Upstairs, in the second floor VIP lounge.
Logan Thurley had organized the get-together—a casual welcome home drink for Oliver Steele, who finally managed to carve out a bit of time during his brief return to town. Just the old crew catching up.
Even when they were hanging out, the conversation mostly revolved around work deals or business updates.
"Hey, there’s a piece of land up for auction in West City this weekend. I’ve been eyeing it for a new project. Now that you’re back, you wanna take a look with me?"
"What kind of project?"
"Thinking a commercial-residential mix. I did some digging—there’s gonna be a metro line running through there. That area’s booming these years, selling it won’t be a problem. If we finish in two years, the expected return's over thirty-seven percent."
"Have someone send the proposal to Ryan Carter. I’ll tell him to clear his weekend."
"Cool, I’ll get it to you tomorrow," Logan replied with a grin.
Oliver rested a cigarette between his fingers, his expression a little tired, like he hadn't had a solid rest in days.
Logan kept chatting while scrolling through his phone, replying to a couple of messages… and then froze mid-scroll.
He glanced up suddenly, cutting in with a weirdly timed question. "Hey Oliver, you’ve been back two days already… you contacted your wife at all?"
One look from Oliver—it was subtle, just a raise of the brow—but Logan caught it.
Clearing his throat awkwardly, Logan added, "I was just scrolling through my feed… pretty sure today’s your wife’s birthday."
Oliver pressed his lips together, tapping his phone a bit before pulling up WeChat and refreshing Moments.
His contact list was pretty small to begin with, and his feed? Just as sparse. The latest was Evan Wells reposting their company’s annual party post, and below that was his own "back in town" post from three days ago.
But… nothing from Clara Grant.
Logan, sharp-eyed as always, caught the empty screen and snorted. "Damn, she posted about her birthday and straight up blocked you from seeing it?"
"For real? Let me check." Evan opened his own feed and scrolled. "Yup, I can see it just fine. Hahaha, yo, Oliver, your wife pulled a pro move! You got singled out, man—blocked just you! That’s cold. I can’t stop laughing!"
On the side, Caleb Foster had a beauty snuggled in one arm. Hearing the commotion, he leaned over to peek at Evan’s phone, then let out a quiet chuckle.
They’d all grown up together. Clara was a couple of years younger than them, basically like a little sister. Everyone had her added.
Oliver shot them each a look—it was sharp. "Business talk’s done. I’m heading out."
"Ah come on, you just got here! Where you off to?"
"Home." Oliver glanced back down at him, eyes cool and unreadable."Who said we're here for business tonight? It's a get-together!" Caleb Foster raised an eyebrow. "I skipped two meetings just to hang out. Why go home early when the night just started?"
"Tch, that's because you’re not married. If you had a cute wife waiting at home, you wouldn't be hyped about nightlife either."
"Ohhh, got it. Later then, Mr. Steele. No need to see you out."
Oliver Steele lowered his gaze, casually adjusting the collar of his shirt, his face calm and unreadable.
Logan Thurley let out a small laugh. "Well, your wife's not at home right now."
Oliver gave him a glance. "What do you mean?"
"Check social media." Logan paused halfway through the sentence, putting on a deliberately coy look. "Oh right... you're blocked. Damn."
“Huh? Clara just posted something again—she's partying at a club too! But… why does the background in that video look so familiar?” Evan Wells stared at the screen, feeling it looked oddly recognizable.
Oliver’s lips pressed into a thin line as he grabbed Evan’s phone without a word and opened the video.
In the clip, Clara Grant had on full glam makeup and a sizzling split-hem cami dress, dancing in the center of a crowd like pure temptation wrapped in human skin.
Oliver was silent.
“She’s at a nightclub?” he finally asked.
“Yep. Why so surprised though?” Evan raised an eyebrow.
"I bet he had no clue his wife hits clubs on the regular," Logan commented with a smirk, enjoying Oliver's less-than-pleased reaction. "Or do you never check your card statement when she swipes your supplementary card?"
Apparently, Miss Grant had a habit of hitting up nightclubs every so often—not getting into anything sketchy, just partying. Logan knew but never bothered mentioning it. He figured Oliver wouldn't care anyway—wasn't this just a marriage of convenience?
Oliver gave a small, almost sarcastic smile, clearly not in the mood for jokes, and tossed the phone back to Evan. "Ask her which club it is."
Having just returned to the country, Oliver had zero context, so the video meant nothing location-wise.
Evan took the phone and skipped the ribbing, dialing someone recognizable from the video who just happened to be a regular rich kid.
The call connected quickly. "Evan! No way! I just heard from Matt that you guys were gonna swing by tonight. Was gonna head up later to say hi!"
Evan ended the call, eyebrows raised.
"What?"
"Oliver, you're not gonna believe this," Evan said, shaking the phone with a half-laugh full of disbelief. "Your wife's downstairs."
"Oof…" Logan whistled, clearly amused. "Couple goals? Or awkward timing?"
Oliver's eyes narrowed, a dark gleam flickering through his gaze.
