Drake’s hands were casually in his pockets, but his gaze flicked from their joined hands to Guy’s smirk. "I saw you were busy with the ladies. Gave you time to shine. So... Gi... I presume."
Guy stepped forward with a practiced smile. "Yes, but everyone calls me Guy."
"I came house-hunting with Queen," Drake said. "I have to check on her though, make sure she doesn’t bankrupt me." He forced a chuckle.
Chay laughed, a bit awkward but genuine. She waved him off, but her mind buzzed with questions. Why did he keep looking at Guy like he was inspecting a new competitor in a race no one had announced?
Queen and Drake stood near the edge of the hall, where a tablet-wielding assistant had just confirmed their interest in one of the luxury properties. It was clean, minimalist, and big enough to impress Queen, though Drake was more concerned about whether it would inspire an overdraft.
"You’ll receive the price via email soon," the assistant chirped with robotic cheer as she typed with alarming speed.
Queen leaned in, beaming. "Isn’t it lovely? It’s got a rooftop garden and a pool."
Drake nodded slowly. "It’s... a house, Queen. Not a resort."
"Details, Drake. It has personality."
Drake exhaled. "I need to know if it’s within my budget."
"I’m sorry, but we do not have that information at this time," the assistant said with a polite but annoyingly rehearsed smile. "I will inform the CEO, and he’ll ensure you receive the details as soon as possible."
Drake’s eyebrows twitched. "You don’t have the price tag for a property you’re actively marketing?"
"Not at this exact moment, sir. We tend to keep the prices discreet for our clients’ privacy."
Drake turned toward Queen, who was already pinching his arm discreetly. "Drake, will you stop pushing? You’re embarrassing me," she hissed under her breath.
Drake leaned closer. "It’ll be an even bigger embarrassment if I sign a purchase contract and my bank account laughs in my face."
Queen let out a sigh, slow and dramatic. "I’m sure it’s reasonably priced."
He turned to her, deadpan. "What you and I consider reasonably priced are two very different galaxies, Queen."
She gave him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, and her chin tilted up a fraction. "Just drop it," she said, as final as a Supreme Court ruling. Then she turned, sipping her champagne.
Her eyes weren’t on the property anymore. They were darting toward Chayara and Guy, who seemed to be floating through the crowd. Chayara’s hand occasionally brushed Guy’s arm as she pointed to designs, her smile casual and soft. Guy was clearly enjoying himself, jumping at every chance to hype Chayara’s brilliance to anyone who would listen.
Queen watched them, the bubbles in her champagne suddenly feeling like acid in her throat.
It wasn’t that she doubted Chay’s abilities. Chay was talented. But that wasn’t the issue. Queen had clawed her way to the top of her father’s empire, taking over Numero Corp. People believed he just handed it to her. No! She had worked her butt off. She hadn’t just walked in on the coattails of legacy. She was Queen Numero, damn it.
And yet, since walking into this soirée, it was like she had stepped into a world where her last name meant nothing.
No one had rushed up to greet her. No whispered gossip about her. They all saw the same sparkly dress, the same flawless makeup, and still their eyes slid past her.
She clenched her jaw as she watched another client lean into Chayara, visibly charmed, and whisper something that made her laugh. Her laugh, Queen noted with annoyance, was actually quite cute.
Queen felt the bitterness gather in her throat. She hadn’t made a splash since her wedding, even her wedding barely made headlines because of the last minute groom change. Since then? Flatline. Nothing. She was slowly becoming... the forgotten heiress.
Her father had built a name, yes, but Queen had vowed she’d be more than a name. She would be a force. She had plans to elevate Numero to something timeless. Something loud. Something so unforgettable the brand would tremble under the weight of her impact.
But tonight, the only thing trembling was her patience.
Queen tilted her head and gave the fakest laugh at something the agent said. Her mind, however, was whirring. If Chayara thought she could waltz into her territory and steal the spotlight with one dramatic dress and a charming male escort, she had another thing coming.
She was the daughter of a well-known business guru, the product of bloodline brilliance and tailored ambition. Queen Numero didn’t just wear success; she made it look good. She had closed deals in stilettos taller than most people’s self-esteem. And she’d made in one month what Numero Corp had previously scraped together in six. Numbers didn’t lie. She was a goddess in a gold dress. She deserved to be worshipped, to be applauded, to be noticed. Yet somehow tonight, no one noticed her.
"Drake," she said, turning toward him. "I’d like to leave now."
Drake blinked, thrown off by her tone. "Come on," he replied, gesturing toward Chayara and Guy still basking in the soft, admiring glow of curious onlookers. "Chay isn’t done yet. Don’t you think you should go over there and give her some of your... professional insights?"
Queen whipped around to face him. "Why the hell do you care so much about Chayara?" she whispered harshly. "I am your wife, not her."
Drake’s face contorted in surprise, then confusion. "What’s wrong with you?" he asked, genuinely baffled. "Chay is my friend. So were you."
"Well," she said, her voice frosty, "I am not just your friend anymore. Deal with it."
She spun around. She didn’t storm off so much as glide away. Drake stood there, arms slightly outstretched, the human embodiment of a question mark.
"Queen..." he called after her, but she was already gone.
He sighed, running a hand down his face, and made his way toward Chayara, who was mid-conversation. She spotted him and excused herself, meeting him with a knowing look.
"Hey Chay," Drake said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Queen wants to leave. I think she’s in a mood."