The Crown Jewel penthouse glowed like someone had cracked open a vault of money and let the warmth spill out.
Soft amber lighting bathed the space in that expensive, honeyed glow that made shadows feel like they cost extra. Floor-to-ceiling windows turned Los Angeles into a glittering carpet of diamonds spread beneath their feet—city lights winking like they knew exactly how much cash was in the room.
The Celestial Grand Hotel's crown jewel (named with the subtlety of a sledgehammer) was the kind of place that made millionaires feel like they'd shown up in flip-flops and a coupon.
Isabella lounged in the deepest armchair, wine glass dangling from manicured fingers like casual royalty. Merlot swirled lazily as she watched the chaos unfold, a smile tugging at her lips she couldn't—and didn't want to—suppress.
Her daughter was happy.
Genuine, messy, uncontainable happy.
