My Milf Conqueror System novel Chapter 130

Chapter 130: The Imperial Gala (Part 1)

[Ethan’s POV]

The Hofburg Palace was a monument to absolute power.

Illuminated by hundreds of golden floodlights, the sprawling baroque complex looked less like a building and more like a fortress of marble and statues. A line of black Maybachs and armored Rolls-Royces crawled toward the grand entrance, discharging the wealthiest, most dangerous people in Europe.

I adjusted the cuffs of Julian Croft’s bespoke tuxedo. It was a little tight across the shoulders, pulling uncomfortably at the fresh stitches Claire had put in my flesh a few hours ago, but it fit well enough to pass inspection.

I had been forced to leave the Glock back at the hostel. Isabella’s security was too tight for firearms. Instead, I had a high-density ceramic push-dagger concealed in the lining of my cummerbund, completely invisible to metal detectors.

Claire stepped out of the cab beside me, and for a second, I forgot how to breathe.

The emerald silk gown clung to her perfectly. She had pinned her blonde hair up in an elegant, intricate twist, and the stolen diamond necklace caught the palace lights, throwing fractured rainbows across her collarbone. She didn’t look like the girl who used to study flashcards in the campus coffee shop. She looked like royalty.

"Stop staring, Ethan," she murmured, her lips barely moving as she looped her arm through mine. "You look like a bodyguard. Relax your shoulders. You’re a billionaire hedge fund manager tonight. Act bored."

"Right. Bored," I muttered, forcing my posture to loosen as we walked up the red carpet toward the massive oak doors.

The security checkpoint was intense. Four PMCs in tailored suits stood at the entrance, running discrete magnetic wands over the guests while a fifth checked invitations against a biometric tablet.

I handed over the two gold-foil cards. The guard scanned them, his eyes flicking up to my face.

"Mr. Croft," the guard said in German, his gaze lingering on the slight bruise on my jaw from my fight with Varga. "You’ve had an accident?"

"A disagreement with a very expensive horse," I replied in flawless, unbothered German, channeling every ounce of arrogant entitlement I had ever seen Jake use. "I won. The horse didn’t."

The guard gave a tight, polite smile and handed the invitations back. "Enjoy the summit, sir."

We stepped through the doors and into the grand ballroom.

It was breathtaking. The ceiling was a masterpiece of Renaissance frescoes, framed by massive crystal chandeliers that bathed the room in warm, golden light. Waiters in white gloves circulated with trays of champagne, while a string quartet played softly in the corner.

But beneath the veneer of high society, the room was a viper’s nest.

"Look at them," Claire whispered, taking a flute of champagne from a passing waiter. "That’s Alexei Rostova by the ice sculpture. He runs the largest weapons smuggling ring in the Balkans. And the woman in the red dress? That’s Madame Chen. She controls the shadow banking sector in Macau."

"Isabella brought all her generals to one room," I said, my eyes constantly moving, scanning the exits, the sightlines, and the security personnel.

There were PMCs everywhere. They were dressed in tuxedos, but I could spot them instantly. They stood with their hands clasped in front of them, their eyes tracking the crowd in overlapping sectors. They were guarding the perimeter, the stairwells, and the massive, reinforced steel doors at the back of the ballroom that undoubtedly led to the temporary vault.

"Where is she?" I asked quietly.

"Up there," Claire nodded toward a sweeping marble balcony that overlooked the ballroom floor.

Standing at the edge of the balcony, flanked by four massive bodyguards, was Isabella Vane.

Look for the anomalies, Darius’s voice echoed in my head. A predator never fully relaxes. Even when they’re on the throne, they’re always hunting.

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