One hundred and forty billion reasons

The Golden Seal

Lira returned home just after noon, her portfolio clutched to her chest, tears streaming down her face.

Rohen met her at the servants’ entrance, his heart sinking at the sight of her.

“They wouldn’t even let me in,” she whispered, collapsing against him. “Security stopped me at the door. Said I didn’t have an appointment. That I was just another social climber trying to waste their time.”

Rohen held her tight, fury burning in his chest. He’d arranged VIP access, but something had gone wrong. A miscommunication. A failure in the system.

His system.

“I’m so stupid,” Lira sobbed. “I actually thought I had a chance. Olivier was right. Dante was right. I’m not qualified for this.”

“Stop.” Rohen pulled back, cupping her face in his hands. “You are qualified. More than any of them. This was a mistake, that’s all.”

“A mistake that proved I don’t belong there.”

“No.” His voice was firm. “It proved that security made an error. Tomorrow, you go back. You try again.”

“Rohen—”

“Tomorrow,” he repeated. “Trust me. Please.”

She searched his eyes, looking for certainty she couldn’t feel herself. Finally, she nodded, exhausted. “Okay. Tomorrow.”

That night, Rohen descended to the servants’ quarters—his humiliating exile, and pulled out his encrypted phone the moment the door closed.

He called Lucien directly.

“What happened?” Rohen’s voice was ice. “I told you to arrange VIP clearance for Lira.”

“I did.” Lucien sounded confused. “I sent the authorization to the tower’s head of security personally. She should have been escorted directly to the executive floor.”

“Well, she wasn’t. She was turned away at the door like a stranger.”

A pause. Then: “There was a shift change this morning. New security officers on duty who may not have received the briefing. I’ll handle it.”

“Make absolutely certain,” Rohen said. “Tomorrow morning, when she arrives, I want security to bow. I want her escorted like royalty. I want every person in that building to know she has full executive access.”

“Understood. It won’t happen again.”

“It better not.”

Rohen hung up, staring at the phone’s dark screen.

Tomorrow. One more chance for Lira to prove herself.

And if anyone stood in her way again, heads would roll.

The next morning, Lira stood outside the Avalon Grand Tower, her portfolio gripped so tight her knuckles were white.

“You can do this,” she whispered to herself. “You can do this.”

She walked toward the entrance, bracing for rejection.

Instead, the security guard at the door looked up, checked a tablet, and immediately straightened.

“Ms. Castellane?”

Lira blinked. “Yes?”

“Welcome to Avalon Grand Tower. We’ve been expecting you.” He gestured to another guard. “Marcus will escort you to the executive floor.”

Lira stood frozen. “I—what?”

The second guard—Marcus, tall and professional, bowed slightly. “This way, ma’am.”

She followed in a daze as they passed through gleaming lobbies, into a private elevator with mirrors and soft lighting. The elevator rose without stopping, bypassing every floor, until it opened on the top level.

Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the entire city. Polished marble. Modern art on the walls. A receptionist in an immaculate suit smiled warmly.

“Ms. Castellane. The acquisitions team is ready for you in Boardroom A. May I get you anything? Water? Coffee?”

“I—no, thank you,” Lira managed.

Marcus led her down a corridor to massive double doors. He opened them, and Lira stepped inside.

The boardroom was breathtaking. A long glass table, leather chairs, one entire wall made of windows showing the city spread out below like a kingdom. Four executives sat waiting, all turning to greet her with genuine smiles.

“Ms. Castellane,” said a woman in her fifties, standing to shake Lira’s hand. “Sarah, Director of Acquisitions. Please, have a seat.”

Lira sat, her heart pounding so hard she thought they must hear it.

“We understand you have a proposal for us,” Sarah said. “We’re very interested to hear your vision.”

Lira opened her portfolio with trembling hands and began.

She spoke about sustainability integrated with luxury. About eco-resorts that didn’t sacrifice elegance for responsibility. About solar panels disguised as architectural features, water reclamation systems designed as art, materials sourced ethically without compromising beauty.

She showed sketches—her own and Mira’s, of buildings that looked like they grew from the landscape rather than dominated it.

The executives listened, asked questions, took notes. And when she finished, Sarah smiled.

“Ms. Castellane, this is exactly the kind of innovation we’re looking for. Your vision aligns perfectly with our future direction.”

Lira’s breath caught. “Really?”

“Really.” Sarah slid a document across the table. “We’d like to offer you the contract. Fifty billion dollar partnership. You’ll serve as lead project designer, working directly with our development team.”

Lira stared at the paper, unable to believe what she was seeing.

“Is this—are you serious?”

“Completely serious.” Sarah extended her hand again. “Welcome to the Avalon Collective, Ms. Castellane.”

That evening, the Veymar family gathered for dinner, the dining room filled with the usual ostentatious display of wealth. 

Olivier lounged in his chair, already half-drunk, grinning at Dante. “Think she’ll even show her face tonight? After yesterday’s humiliation?”

“Probably hiding in her room,” Dante said, swirling his wine. “Crying into one of those sad dresses she wears.”

Isolde sat at the head of the table, her expression carved from ice. She’d prepared a cutting speech, designed to remind Lira of her place, to punish her for daring to reach above her station.

The dining room doors opened.

Lira walked in, head high, carrying a leather portfolio.

She looked different, confident, almost glowing.

The room fell quiet.

“Well?” Olivier sneered. “How badly did they laugh you out of the building?”

Lira said nothing. She walked directly to Isolde and placed the portfolio on the table in front of her.

“Open it,” Lira said quietly.

Isolde’s eyes narrowed. “What is this?”

“Open it.”

Isolde opened the portfolio with sharp, impatient movements.

And froze.

Inside was an official contract. Bound in leather and pressed into the cover was a seal—gold, intricate, unmistakable.

The Avalon Collective’s emblem.

Isolde’s hands began to tremble as she read. Her lips moved silently, processing the words.

“Fifty billion,” she whispered. “Partnership agreement. Lead project designer: Lira Castellane.”

The room erupted.

“What?” Olivier lurched to his feet, knocking over his wine glass. Red liquid spread across the white tablecloth like blood.

Dante choked on his drink, coughing violently.

The cousins gaped, speechless.

“This can’t be real,” Olivier snatched the contract from Isolde’s shaking hands. He read it, his face going from pale to red to purple. “This is a mistake. They gave you the wrong document—”

“It’s real,” Lira said, her voice steady. “I presented my proposal. They accepted it. We signed the agreement this afternoon.”

“You?” Dante’s voice cracked. “They chose you?”

“Yes.” Lira met his eyes without flinching. “They chose me.”

Isolde stared at the contract like it might bite her. For the first time in Rohen’s memory, the matriarch looked genuinely shaken.

“How—” Isolde’s voice was barely audible. “How did you—”

“I had a good idea,” Lira said simply. “And I worked hard. That’s all.”

Olivier threw the contract onto the table. “This is impossible. She doesn’t have the connections, the experience—”

“And yet she succeeded where you failed,” Rohen said from his corner.

Everyone turned to look at him.

He stood slowly, walking toward Lira. He’d been watching from the shadows, savoring every moment of their shock.

Now he crossed the room and pulled Lira into his arms.

She wrapped her arms around him, laughing and crying at the same time. “We did it,” she whispered. “We actually did it.”

“No,” Rohen said, looking directly at Isolde over Lira’s shoulder. “You did it. All on your own.”

The family stared at them—Rohen and Lira, embracing in the center of the dining room, while a fifty billion dollar contract sat on the table between them.

For once, no one mocked him,

For once no one sneered or made cruel jokes.

For once, the Veymar family looked at Lira Castellane with genuine, fearful respect.