Chapter BGM:
"Like a Dream" – Francis and the Lights(For the ones who don't just enter a room— they shift the entire gravity.)
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"Some girls don't chase fortune—they bring it with them."
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As dusk settled in, Celeste suddenly leapt from the sofa. "Alright, comrades! I'm off to change. You two handle the guests. See you soon!"
Before either Jett or Nolan could respond, she had already disappeared around the staircase corner, leaving the boys standing by the front door to greet the arriving guests.
They didn't complain. Because when Celeste said she had things under control—she meant it.
Every guest that stepped out of their car was discreetly handed a beautifully wrapped return gift. Drivers and assistants were given red envelopes, just the right weight to feel both generous and effortless. What looked like seamless hospitality was, in truth, a precisely orchestrated performance. And she had choreographed every move.
Celeste always prepared the guest list in advance. Her mind could recall every name, every preference, and every taboo. She'd even confirm with Jett's parents which guests were "respectable" enough to be acknowledged. These duties were technically for a house manager or a secretary—but in a family that believed in facial reading and feng shui, they trusted her instincts above all.
After all, the fortune-teller who saw her birth chart had declared: "This girl brings fortune with every hand she raises. She'll bless any house she stays in."
From then on, everything the two families touched seemed to thrive. And Celeste? She became something of a living good luck charm. One they had no intention of letting go.
Upstairs, she entered her usual guest room. Though technically not hers, it was curated as if it were: soft white curtains swayed gently by the window, a vanity table crowded with pastel-toned skincare bottles from every major beauty brand, dainty clips, and a few well-loved Sailor Moon and anime figures——carefully chosen by Jett's mom, who always said, "If I had a daughter, I'd want her to grow up like Celeste. Smart. Sharp. Soft where it matters."
When she came down again, the room shifted.
She wore a gown from Dior's Haute Couture line—a quiet, snowy teal with a glossy satin sheen, flowing like a lake under golden light. The neckline was expertly structured to reveal her collarbone just so, elegant but never overdone. The cinched waist gave way to layered folds of fabric that enhanced her silhouette without overwhelming it.
Draped over her shoulders was a white fur shawl, catching the setting sun like a halo of mist. She didn't look like she was attending a party. She looked like she had walked out of a vintage film reel—the leading lady from a forgotten era.
Jett's parents beamed, proudly introducing her as if she were their own daughter.
Nolan, meanwhile, stood quietly by the bookshelf. But his eyes had already found her. She glittered.
And something inside him fluttered.
She hadn't even tried.But she glittered—and his pulse knew it.Why does she always make my heart skip?
Celeste's gaze also shifted—landing on Nolan's mother. The woman was almost ethereal: tall, golden-haired, ocean-eyed, a picture of European elegance, and spoke fluent Mandarin with ease.
Celeste felt a flicker of admiration—and perhaps a bit of longing. Maybe, someday, she too could grow into such grace. Maybe even age with that same effortless poise.
Just then, her own parents arrived. Her father's voice rang out before he even stepped in—bold, booming, impossible to miss. Celeste blinked once. Then smiled. Smooth. Controlled. Her mother followed, gentle and refined, eyes warm and wise.
The two families instantly fell into lively conversation, leaving the younger ones free.
Jett stayed behind, claiming he wanted to "listen in on spring investment talks," to which Celeste rolled her eyes. "He just wants to get rich without lifting a finger."
Then she grabbed Nolan by the wrist with a smirk, and they slipped out unnoticed.
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[To be continued]