Emmaline's POV
The party is in full swing, the grand ballroom brimming with the elite of the fortress. Crystal chandeliers hang above us, their golden light shimmering against the polished marble floors. Servers glide through the crowd, their trays heavy with expensive wines and hors d'oeuvres, while hushed conversations and polite laughter fill the air. It's all so meticulously orchestrated—wealth and power woven seamlessly into a single, dazzling display.
And yet, despite the glamour, despite the elegance, I can see the subtle power plays unfolding around me.
I sip my wine and glance across the room, noting how the hunters—especially the S-class ones—are subtly avoiding us. Oh, they're not obvious about it. No one would dare outright snub my father, not when his wealth is woven into the very fabric of this fortress's economy. But their avoidance is calculated, strategic. A slight shift in posture, an ignored greeting, a too-long glance before looking away.
It's infuriating.
These grown-ass men and women, the so-called pillars of our society, are acting like petty children because my father and I aren't S-class hunters or connected to one. Because in this world, raw strength means more than the power that comes with money and influence.
Idiots.
I tighten my grip around my wine glass, and almost instantly, the liquid within chills under my touch.
"Emmaline," my father's voice cuts through my quiet seething. His gaze flickers to my fingers, and I quickly force myself to relax before my mana seeps out any further.
"Right," I mutter, exhaling as I swirl the wine in my glass. Calm. Composed. Untouchable.
My father, ever composed, watches me for a moment before sighing. "What you should be doing is finding me a son-in-law," he grumbles, leaning back against his chair. "I'm getting old, you know."
I scoff, rolling my eyes. "You're not old, Dad."
He raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by my answer.
I smirk. "Don't worry. Even when you're old and gray, I'll still be here to bug you to death."
He huffs, shaking his head with an amused glint in his eyes, but whatever he was about to say is cut short when the host—the S-class guild master of Roaring Tiger—stands to make a toast.
A hush falls over the crowd as all eyes shift toward him.
I pretend to pay attention, but my gaze wanders, scanning the sea of faces until—unfortunately—I make accidental eye contact with Oscar Varennes.
I inwardly groan.
Oscar, the son of the Roaring Tiger's guild master, the golden boy of his generation, the one who broke into A-class at just sixteen and is supposedly on the verge of reaching S-class. His talent is undeniable, his skills impressive.
Too bad he's also a massive pervert.
Oscar has had his eyes set on me for years, and if the way his lips curl into that annoyingly self-assured smirk is any indication, he has every intention of pursuing me tonight.
I quickly look away, pretending I didn't see him. Maybe he'll get distracted. Maybe some other poor girl will catch his attention. Maybe—
"Excuse me for a moment," my father says, standing to offer his birthday wishes to the guild master.
And just like that, I'm alone.
I spot Oscar moving toward me, so I do the only thing any reasonable person would do in my situation—
I walk in the opposite direction.
Unfortunately, in my haste to escape, I end up colliding directly into an even more unfortunate pairing.
Evan Hwan and Elysia Veridane.
Just perfect.
Evan is handsome, I'll give him that. He always has been, and the new tailored suit he's wearing only enhances his sharp features. But none of that distracts from the undeniable animosity in his dark eyes as he looks at me.
I don't flinch.
Instead, I straighten, flipping my hair behind my ear with a deliberately slow and poised motion. If he thinks he can intimidate me, he's sorely mistaken.
"Evan," I greet smoothly, ignoring the hostility in his gaze.
"Emmaline." His voice is clipped, restrained.
I turn my attention to Elysia, the only S-rank healer in the fortress, the guild master of Sanctum, and Evan's current arm candy. She's beautiful, elegant, with long platinum hair and sharp, pointed ears—a clear indicator of her elven heritage. Her blue eyes are piercing, filled with subtle judgment as she assesses me.
Oh, great. So he's already told her about me.
"Guild master Elysia," I say, offering a polite nod. "A pleasure."
"Likewise." Her tone is pleasant, but I can hear the unspoken hostility beneath it.
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Girl, I am not your competition. You've got three, maybe four other girls to deal with in Evan's little harem-in-the-making. I'm not about to hop on that overcrowded bus.
I flash a charming smile. "Well, I'd love to stay and chat, but I must be going."
And with that, I turn on my heel and gracefully walk away before either of them can say anything else.
That was exhausting.
And yet, before I can fully enjoy my escape—
Oscar catches up to me.
Damn it.
"Emmaline," he drawls, flashing that infuriating smirk. "As beautiful as always."
I stop, slowly turning to face him. Don't roll your eyes. Don't roll your eyes.
"Oscar…" I say, forcing a tight-lipped smile. "Heyyy…"
He takes my hand before I can stop him, bringing it to his lips for an exaggerated kiss.
I resist the overwhelming urge to wipe my hand on my dress.
The worst part? He's too damn good-looking for his own good. Tall, golden-haired, charming on the surface—the type that mothers would adore, but daughters would quickly learn to avoid. I'm a daughter I would love to avoid him.
"So," Oscar continues, releasing my hand but not stepping away, "I see you're still as cold as ever."
I arch a brow. "Observant."
His smirk widens. "What can I say? I have a keen
eye for beautiful things especially the cold ones."
I bite back a groan.
It's going to be a long night.