FALLS IN LOVE WITH RICH GUY - FIC

CHAPTER TWO

Inside the grandiose Caplan mansion, chandeliers hung like crystal rain, casting a shimmering glow over the assembly of wealth and privilege. The air buzzed with laughter and the clinking of glasses, a blend of rich voices floating through the luxurious hallways. Brooke Roberts stepped over the threshold, an outsider amidst the golden opulence, her dark eyes wide with awe. Only a week ago, she had been a barista at the local café, serving espressos to tired students. Now, she was standing in a glittering world that felt like a fairy tale—and yet, she felt like a ghost haunting it.

The decor screamed elegance, from the marble floors to the ornately crafted furniture. As Brooke wandered through the party, she couldn't shake the feeling of being out of place, despite her artsy wardrobe that contrasted beautifully with the polished preppiness of most attendees. Her gaze settled on Preston Caplan across the room, charming and effortlessly popular, surrounded by laughter and adoration. He caught her eye and gave a friendly wave, reminding her of the few times they'd shared in class, an unexpected connection in the chaos of university life.

Just as she began to root herself in the moment, a tap on her shoulder jolted her back. It was Dane, the Caplan's butler, sharp in his perfect suit. "Miss Roberts, a request has come in for you," he said with an air of formality. "Some anonymous guests wish to be served drinks tonight."

Confusion danced across her features, but Dane's steady demeanor compelled her to follow. He led her to the kitchen, the stark contrast of stainless steel and the clatter of dishes a welcome departure from the pomp. After he draped a crisp apron over her head, he handed her a tray of drinks. "Preston told me a lot about you," he mentioned casually, his tone warm amidst the chaotic clamor of the party.

Brooke's heart skipped. Did he think of her that way? But that train of thought derailed as reality hit—Ariana Millstone had made the request, undoubtedly seeking to flaunt her superiority while masking her cruelty with sweet words and a saccharine smile. This was not just a party; it was a battlefield of social status, and Brooke was thrust into the role of an unwitting caterer.

With a deep breath, she embraced the challenge. As she stepped back into the grand room, the weight of expectations settled on her shoulders, but she stood tall. If Ariana wanted to use her as a prop, she would play her part—serving drinks with grace amidst the pretentious laughter. Maybe tonight, she could turn the tables, surprising them all with the depth of her character hidden beneath the surface, beneath the chandeliers.

As she glided through the crowd, tray in hand, she couldn't help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, the night held more than just serving drinks. After all, in a world filled with facades, real connections could spark like wildfire—if only she could find a way to ignite them.

Inside the opulent mansion of the Caplan family, the warm glow of chandeliers lit the high ceilings and criss-crossed patterns of the parquet floor. Brooke Roberts, a 21-year-old college student and part-time barista, felt the weight of the evening pressing in on her. Every swirl of her edgy, gothic attire—dark lace paired with combat boots—seemed to contrast sharply against the polished surfaces and gleaming decor that surrounded her.

Brooke had been invited to this soirée by Preston Caplan himself, a charming and athletic classmate whose preppy style and popularity made him the golden boy of Stonewall University. Yet, as she moved through the crowd, tray in hand, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was an imposter in this lavish world.

"Is Preston ashamed of me?" she thought, pouring a glass of wine for an exquisite older woman who looked down her nose at Brooke's chipped black nail polish. "Also, who the hell requested me as a caterer to serve drinks? Is that why he invited me—just so his fiancée can embarrass me?"

A sigh slipped past her lips as she navigated the sea of laughter and clinking glasses. Just ahead, she spotted Preston, casually leaning against the bar, delightful and effortless, his preppy attire radiating confidence. He spoke animatedly with Ariana Millstone, the picture-perfect socialite with golden locks and an equally golden pedigree. She was the reigning queen of the campus, head of her sorority, and the one girl who lived to put others in their place.