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Kingsley Manor, Upper East Side, NY.
The morning light slanted through the grand windows of the Kingsley manor, casting a golden sheen over the crystal chandeliers and oil-painted ancestors. Adelaide sat alone in the cavernous kitchen, an untouched cup of black coffee cradled between her palms. The house was too quiet—elegantly oppressive, the kind of silence that clung to you like static.
Her eyes hadn't left the screen of her phone for the last twenty minutes.
"Spotted: A Kiss to Remember."
The image was already stamped into her memory. Her and Monet, caught mid-kiss, with the Van der Bilt skyline glowing around them like it had been waiting for that exact moment to happen. A thousand headlines followed. A hundred thousand shares. Comment sections filled with conspiracy theories, shipping names, think-pieces.
Was it love? Lust? A strategic collision of empires?
She hadn't answered a single text. Not from Audrey. Not from Max. Not even from Monet, whose only message had been:
"Well, if we wanted attention, mission accomplished."
The sound of heels broke the silence.
"Good morning, darling," her mother's voice drifted in, effortless and tailored, like she had never missed a breakfast in her life.
Adelaide didn't look up.
"Morning," she said, setting her phone face-down on the marble.
Her mother, immaculate in a cream Ralph Lauren pantsuit and pearl studs, walked over and poured herself a cup of tea. She moved like this was all perfectly normal—like Adelaide's life hadn't just become headline news.
"I assume you've seen it," she said, taking a seat beside her daughter. "The photo. The kiss."
Adelaide said nothing.
Her mother sipped her tea. "Your father and I are very proud of you."
Adelaide blinked, confused. "For what?"
"For finally doing something that aligns with your future." She set her cup down with a light clink. "The De Haan girl is powerful. A little brash, but ambitious. The two of you together—well, you're all anyone can talk about."
Adelaide looked at her mother, really looked at her. "You think this is about... strategy?"
Her mother smiled, as if the answer were obvious. "Everything is, darling."
Adelaide's chest tightened. She looked down at the phone in her lap, at the image the world now believed was love.
"I didn't do it for the family," she said quietly.
Her mother tilted her head. "You didn't need to. But look what it's become. Do you know how many reporters have reached out? Vogue wants a piece. The Times wants to interview you for their 'Modern Heiresses' spread."
