The stark, monolithic silence that once defined the Vance estate had long since been demolished. Six months ago, walking through the towering minimalist corridors felt like navigating a tomb built of marble and polished glass—a physical manifestation of Alexander Vance’s frozen heart.
Tonight, the estate breathed.
The cold, monochromatic rooms were alive with a warmth that couldn't be bought on the stock exchange. Sunken terrace gardens overflowed with lush, flowering jasmine and vibrant emerald vines that climbed up the once-sterile concrete pillars. Soft, amber lighting danced across the polished stone floors, and the air was filled with the rich, comforting aroma of a high-end celebration. Soft jazz music drifted through the open French doors, accompanied by the bright, unmistakable s
