The fashion show lasted only 15 minutes, featuring three collections. After an impactful, unconventional opening, the next two themes were more conventional. Finally, the models took their curtain call, officially ending Anna Sui's show.
As the event concluded, the guests seemed hesitant, unsure whether they should approach and greet any of the VIPs.
The first to rush over to Simon and Sophia as they stood up was Madonna.
The Queen of Pop brazenly embraced Simon, taking the opportunity to flirt. "Simon, it's so great to see you again."
Simon, however, blocked her attempt at a kiss with a look of disdain. "A hug is fine, and maybe a pat on the back. Anything more, and I'll accuse you of harassment."
Reluctantly, Madonna released Simon and greeted Sophia before making her own jab. "You're such a miser. You're becoming more and more like a typical billionaire."
Simon replied with deliberate pride, "You're wrong—not billionaire, trillionaire. Here's a new word for you to learn."
Madonna rolled her eyes. "Got it. Should I write a song praising you, Mr. Trillionaire?"
"You'd have to change your name to Taylor Ciccone first."
The Queen of Pop frowned, clearly missing the reference. "What does that mean?"
Simon smirked. "Just proves you're uneducated."
Madonna pouted. "Simon, if you keep this up, I might stop loving you."
Meanwhile, Sophia exchanged greetings with the approaching Yasmin Ghauri. Glancing at Madonna's neglected boyfriend hovering nearby, Sophia said to the bickering pair, "Let's continue this at the party."
They passed through the backstage area, exchanging a few brief goodbyes before leaving the venue.
On the drive to the nearby Gramercy Hotel, Simon turned to Sophia. "What do you think about skipping the party and heading straight back to Greenwich?"
Sophia, long resigned to Simon's ever-present circle of admirers, gave him a sidelong glance. "I still need to discuss business with Anna. Just don't start spoiling some young girl and then turn around and take it out on me."
"That, my dear, is entirely possible."
Sophia ignored his playful tone and asked, "So, what did you think of the show?"
"Fashion is still a niche business, not much room for growth. But cosmetics, handbags, and accessories might be worth focusing on. The brand's bold style will attract consumers who like to stand out. Whatever you do, avoid trying to expand into the mainstream—that would just dilute Anna Sui's uniqueness and make it irrelevant."
Sophia nodded approvingly. "I agree, which is why I've given Anna a lot of creative autonomy."
Simon asked, "How much of the company do we own?"
"Seventy percent," Sophia replied. "But to protect our investment, we can't give too much autonomy. The relationship between capital and creativity is always a balancing act. If capital demands too much, it stifles creativity. But if we're too lenient, the brand could spiral out of control. I've been experimenting to find the right balance for each brand."
Simon put an arm around her waist. "Just don't overwork yourself. If you ever get tired of managing it all, you can hand it over to the professionals."
Sophia leaned into him, caressing his face. "That's what I want to tell you. You need to delegate more. There's always more work than you can do."
Simon chuckled. "Funny. Not long ago, someone criticized me for being too indulgent and lazy."
Sophia narrowed her eyes. "Who was it?"
Simon smiled but didn't answer. Instead, he said, "I'm not chasing more wealth anymore. But some things are hard to stop—like a million-ton ship in the middle of the ocean. Besides, I need to start converting the Westeros System's wealth into influence and control over the world. That's what truly matters—for us and for our children."
Sophia nodded. "Speaking of that, the location for the Tasmania Club's venue on Martha's Vineyard has been finalized. We can visit it tomorrow."
The Tasmania Club was a new private club Sophia was planning, following the 63 Club on Manhattan's East 63rd Street. While the 63 Club was a modest venue for hosting guests and corporate events, the Tasmania Club aimed to be far more exclusive.
Modeled after similar membership-only clubs like those in China, the Tasmania Club would only admit select individuals from the highest echelons of politics and business, primarily those within the Westeros System's core circle. It was, in essence, a symbolic "ticket" to Simon's vision for the future.
Each member would receive a private plot of land on Tasmania Island, aligning with Simon's broader "Eden Project."
The club's first North American venue, a golf course on Martha's Vineyard, would soon be followed by properties in Europe, Asia, and Tasmania itself. It was a long-term plan, and neither construction nor member recruitment was being rushed.
Simon shook his head at Sophia's suggestion. "Not tomorrow. I won't have time."
Sophia, remembering her packed schedule and Simon's equally tight itinerary, dropped the subject. "By the way, I brought you a gift this time."
Simon smiled. "What is it?"
Sophia's expression turned playful. "I'll have Anger deliver it to you tomorrow after I leave. You'll love it."
Curious but without any leads, Simon decided to wait and see.
They soon arrived at the Gramercy Hotel.
The event, held in a small banquet hall rented by Anna Sui, featured a guest list personally curated by Sophia to maintain privacy. Only a select few from the fashion show had received invitations, and gate-crashers had no chance.
Simon's security had long surpassed the standards for a head of state. At the fashion show earlier, though only two bodyguards were visible, four additional security teams from the Westeros family worked discreetly around the venue.
Kathy Hilton originally planned to attend the afterparty alone, leaving her daughters at home. But after some pestering and recalling Simon's apparent fondness for her daughters, she ended up bringing Paris and Nicky along.
After security checks, the trio entered the dimly lit venue, which was decorated in a Halloween-like purple and red theme—a nod to Anna Sui's design aesthetic.
Their first instinct was to locate Simon. Despite the lighting, he was easy to spot—leaning against the bar with a drink in hand, flanked by two supermodels, and surrounded by other glamorous figures.
Paris muttered, "What a playboy."
Nicky disagreed, eyes bright as she stared at Simon. "That's charm."
Kathy warned her elder daughter, "Watch your words," before heading off to greet Sophia.
Left to their own devices, the Hilton sisters grabbed some juice from the buffet table. Though tempted by the champagne, they refrained, mindful of the stricter rules in unfamiliar settings.
Nicky, glancing at the towering supermodels surrounding Simon, felt a pang of insecurity. At 5'3", she was petite compared to the 6-foot-tall models. While she'd inherited her father's genes for height, it wasn't enough to compete here.
Still, she couldn't help but inch closer, recalling Simon's words from their last encounter—that he liked her best.
To her surprise, Simon noticed her approach and waved the models aside, inviting the sisters over. "Let's sit over there."
"Sure!" Nicky beamed, sticking close to him.
Paris followed, trying to maintain her composure. "What brings you to New York, Simon?"
"Work," he replied simply.
Nicky eagerly added, "Simon has so many companies here, of course, he'd visit often."
Paris retorted, "What's that got to do with you? Don't get smug."
Nicky shot Simon a plaintive look but said nothing more.
Seated in a booth, Simon asked, "School's started, hasn't it?"
"Yes," Nicky replied eagerly, leaning against him slightly. Though she longed for the warmth of being lifted into his arms as he had done before, she didn't dare in this crowded setting. Simply sitting beside him was enough.
As they chatted, Simon's thoughts wandered. If his own children ever developed bad habits, he'd certainly take stronger measures than just sending them to a boarding school.
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