Manhattan, Dalton School, Upper East Side.
As the last class of the day ended, Ray Spert grabbed his backpack and stood up, only to have his friend Gerald Hawley rush up to him, throwing an arm around his shoulder and whispering, "Buddy, I need to ask you for a favor."
Ray glanced at his friend, slightly wary. "What is it?"
"This Saturday is my cousin's birthday. Could you, uh, invite a few models to come?"
Ray immediately elbowed Gerald in the ribs, refusing flatly, "Jerry, how many times do I have to tell you not to ask me for things like this? Besides, I can't. My mom would lose her mind."
Gerald, unfazed by the rejection, pressed on. "Come on, Ray. I already promised my cousin. If I don't pull through, my reputation's toast!"
As they reached the lockers in the hallway, Ray opened his and began organizing his things. Though his tone softened slightly, showing a hint of empathy for his closest friend of the last two years, he still said firmly, "My mom would seriously lose it. She doesn't let me get involved in anything to do with Elite, and she's banned my sister from modeling even as a side gig."
Sensing Ray was less resolute than before, Gerald leaned closer and lowered his voice. "Please, Ray, I'm begging you. I'll even pay you."
Ray frowned deeply. "Hey, I'm not a pimp."
Realizing he had misspoken, Gerald quickly backtracked. "Sorry, Ray. No talk of money, okay? Just as a favor. Help me out here."
As the two spoke quietly, a tall blonde girl walked toward them from the other end of the hallway. Catching a snippet of Ray's slightly raised voice, she asked in a crisp British accent, "What's this about a pimp?"
Gerald turned to see Victoria Wilkinson, Ray's girlfriend, approaching. He quickly let go of his friend's shoulder and grinned sheepishly. "Vicky, that coat of yours is absolutely stunning."
Victoria was wearing a bright orange Burberry trench coat, one of the brand's newest designs. But rather than being flattered, she shot Gerald a skeptical look and repeated her question, "What's this about a pimp?"
Gerald dodged the question, instead clasping his hands together in a mock gesture of prayer toward Ray. "Please, buddy. It's my cousin's 18th birthday. A once-in-a-lifetime thing. Adult status! Come on, you've gotta help me."
With that, Gerald backed away and made a quick escape.
Ray finished packing his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and, seeing Gerald disappear down the hall, walked with Victoria toward the school exit. He explained to his girlfriend, whose curiosity remained piqued, "Jerry wants me to invite some models to his cousin's birthday party."
Victoria's eyes widened immediately. "You better not do it."
Ray shrugged. "I'm not going to. I can't anyway."
Satisfied with his response, Victoria nodded approvingly. As they descended the staircase, she couldn't help but prod further, her curiosity now mixed with excitement. "Ray, do you, um, meet those supermodels often?"
Ray shook his head. "Hardly ever. My mom doesn't let me or Rita get involved with that world. Rita once thought about modeling part-time to earn some pocket money, but my mom wouldn't allow it."
Victoria nodded again, this time with a sense of relief. Still, as they passed the landing on the staircase, she did a playful twirl in front of her boyfriend, a mix of curiosity and self-doubt in her tone. "Do you think I could be a model?"
Ray gave her a quick once-over, noting her petite frame of about 5'5". He avoided a direct answer, instead saying, "Being a model isn't as glamorous as it seems. Take the recent fashion week, for example. Some models worked up to 20 hours a day."
Victoria looked incredulous. "Twenty hours? That's impossible. There are only 24 hours in a day!"
"Exactly. That's why, even if you could be a model, you probably wouldn't make it as a supermodel."
Victoria, not one to back down, retorted, "If that's what it takes, I could work 20 hours a day too!"
The playful exchange carried on as they reached the ground floor.
Dalton School, being a prestigious private institution frequented by Manhattan's elite families, often had luxury cars lined up for student pickups after class. However, not everyone opted for a chauffeur. For some families, it was a matter of principle—teaching their children independence. Ray and Victoria both belonged to the group that had to make their own way home and were heading toward the bike racks when Ray's older sister, Rita Spert, came jogging over.
Even in a casual outfit of a denim jacket and jeans, Rita exuded a natural elegance. Her poised demeanor made her the standout "it girl" of Dalton School for the past two years. With her stellar grades, active participation in various school clubs, and a notable boyfriend, Rita had earned herself an enviable reputation.
Victoria instinctively tugged at her Burberry trench coat, feeling a twinge of insecurity in Rita's presence. Though Victoria came from a wealthy and prominent family, Rita's multifaceted achievements made her seem untouchable.
Unfazed by Victoria's awkwardness, Rita smiled warmly and greeted her before turning to her brother. "Mom's waiting outside for us. Let's go."
Ray was immediately surprised and slightly apprehensive. Grabbing Victoria's arm to bring her along, he asked, "What's going on?"
Both siblings had noticed the tension between their parents over the years. When their divorce was finalized not long ago, it didn't come as a shock to either of them. In fact, they found it almost expected, as the signs had been there for a long time. Divorce was also common among their peers, so it wasn't something they struggled to accept. However, both Ray and Rita suspected there was more to the divorce than just a deteriorating relationship. They were certain their parents were hiding something.
Now, with their mother—who rarely came to pick them up—suddenly showing up, Ray couldn't shake the feeling that something significant was happening.
Rita simply shook her head at her brother's question, offering no answers.
Outside the school gates, they soon spotted their mother, Grace, standing beside a sleek black car. She smiled and waved them over.
Ray, still holding Victoria's arm, approached and asked impatiently, "Mom, why are you here?"
Grace didn't answer immediately. Instead, she turned her attention to the girl beside her son. "And who's this?"
Only then did Ray remember. Embarrassed, he introduced her, "Mom, this is Vicky, my girlfriend."
Victoria, despite her nerves, extended her hand graciously. "Hello, Mrs. Spert. I'm Victoria Wilkinson."
Grace shook the girl's hand with a polite smile. "Hello, Vicky. I'm Grace, Ray and Rita's mother. You can call me Grace. By the way, that Burberry coat looks stunning on you."
"Thank you," Victoria replied, blushing slightly. She felt both flattered and nervous, wondering how Grace had so quickly identified her coat as a Burberry piece. Then she remembered: Grace was the head of Elite, the world's largest modeling agency. It made perfect sense.
Grace seemed in no rush, casually chatting with Victoria for a few moments. Then she glanced at her watch and said, "We need to get going. Vicky, where do you live? We can drop you off on the way."
Victoria glanced at the black Mercedes and the two uniformed women standing nearby, their demeanor sharp and professional. Shaking her head, she declined politely. "Thank you, Grace, but my house is just on 83rd Street. It's close enough to walk."
Her reluctance was partly because the car, though luxurious, didn't seem large enough to accommodate all of them.
Grace noticed the girl's hesitation and smiled knowingly. She gestured to one of the uniformed women, who spoke briefly into an earpiece. Moments later, an identical black Mercedes pulled up.
"Ray, you take Vicky in the second car. Drop her off, and the driver will bring you to us afterward," Grace instructed before getting into the first car with Rita.
As Victoria climbed into the second car with Ray, her curiosity peaked. The heavy, thick doors, clearly reinforced, suggested this was no ordinary Mercedes but a custom bulletproof vehicle. And not just any bulletproof vehicle—this was the kind used by top executives, dignitaries, or even heads of state.
Despite her family's significant wealth and owning several armored cars, Victoria had never seen anything quite like this.
As the first car pulled away, and the second car followed suit, Victoria tapped a button to raise the partition between the front and back seats. She turned to Ray, who looked unusually pensive. "Ray, is this your family's car?"
Ray shook his head, his expression evasive.
At 17, Ray was nearly as tall as his father at 6 feet (1.8 meters) and had inherited his parents' good looks. It was part of why he had little trouble attracting girls like Victoria, even after a recent breakup. However, Ray's early maturity also meant he was quick to notice the subtleties in life. He had long heard rumors about Simon Westeros and had even attended one of Westeros's exclusive New Year's parties at the Greenwich estate.
The uniformed women accompanying his mother and sister earlier were likely the infamous Westeros female bodyguards.
Connecting the dots—
his parents' recent divorce, his mother's sudden arrival, the Mercedes, and now this helicopter ride—Ray felt certain about the underlying cause of it all.
It all led back to Simon Westeros.
And his mother...
Ray's thoughts grew conflicted. If his mother had somehow managed to secure someone like Simon Westeros as their stepfather, he wouldn't necessarily object. But it couldn't actually be the Simon Westeros, could it?
Victoria noticed her boyfriend's troubled expression and wisely decided not to press him further.
The car dropped her off at her home, and then continued on to the East River heliport, where Grace and Rita were waiting.
Ray got out of the car and immediately spotted the massive black helicopter on the tarmac. His suspicions only deepened.
The custom Black Hawk helicopter was an unmistakable symbol of Simon Westeros. Ray had overheard classmates discussing it before. Some wealthy individuals had inquired about purchasing a similar model but were deterred by its $35 million price tag—enough to buy 10 standard helicopters. And even if they could afford it, the annual maintenance costs, running into the millions, were prohibitive.
Grace, noting her son's stunned expression as he approached, gave him a warm hug. Holding his hand, she guided him and Rita onto the helicopter.
As the Black Hawk lifted off, Grace, still holding Ray's hand, began to talk about something else entirely. "Rita mentioned earlier that Victoria's father is Derek Wilkinson. Funny thing—I've actually met him and your dad at a few events. The Wilkinson family is quite the established aristocracy back in England. Who would've thought our Ray would end up dating a proper heiress?"
Her tone was light, almost teasing, but carried an undercurrent of pride.
If this had been a few years ago, the Spert family—both parents being mere corporate executives—would have been overwhelmed in the presence of such old-money aristocrats.
But things had changed.
Now, Grace thought of Simon Westeros and felt a deep, almost smug sense of security. No wealth or power in the world could rival what Simon represented.
Grace's hand subconsciously moved to her stomach. She was carrying a Westeros baby. Simon had already promised that the child would bear the Westeros name, and knowing his character, this child would undoubtedly grow up as one of the rightful heirs to the Westeros empire.
With that assurance, Grace felt confident that her son and daughter's futures would also be secure. With the Westeros name as their foundation, they could face even the most prestigious old-money families with ease.
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