"Katie, it's me, Roberta… Yeah, still at Simon's place… About the two shows today… I know about the penalty fee, but what I'm saying is, can you find someone to replace me? They're just two small brands. At most, I'll do a free show for them next time… I'll definitely be on time for the Donna Karan show tonight… Annie? She's here too, but she'll head back in the morning… I'd love for her to cover for me, but she's got four shows today. Workaholic, you know… Alright… Yeah, I can only ask around for you. That's it."
After hanging up the phone, Roberta Chilko, still wrapped in a bathrobe, excitedly stretched her arms, only to quickly grab the robe as it threatened to slip off. Barefoot, she left the living room on the first floor, walked down the hallway, and entered the walk-in closet at the end of the villa.
The closet, spanning over a hundred square meters, was filled to the brim with clothes, shoes, and accessories. Every time she spent the night with a certain man, the most exciting part for Roberta was the next morning's visit to the closet.
It was a treasure trove of endless choices, with the occasional limited-edition piece hidden as a surprise.
It all depended on her eye for fashion.
Several other women were already there picking out outfits. Roberta's eyes sparkled as she scanned the room, exchanged brief greetings, and then dove into the treasure hunt.
Occasionally, she couldn't help but fantasize about what it would be like if this closet belonged entirely to her.
Being kept by a wealthy man, with luxury cars, mansions, maids, and bodyguards at her disposal, gifts arriving on every holiday and birthday even if the man himself rarely showed up—it was all part of the package. Yet, maintaining a closet like this was no easy feat.
It wasn't just about filling a room with clothes.
Since she didn't plan to leave during the day, she picked out a casual fitted top and skinny pants, the kind that accentuated her figure. She could tell that, compared to dresses, the man preferred them dressed like this.
It was just a bit more troublesome to take off.
But for a certain someone, it was no trouble at all.
He had strong hands.
After changing, she left the closet with Heidi Klum, who had just finished getting ready, and headed to the dining room. Simon was already there, seated at the head of the long dining table. To his left was Angela Lindvall, whom he affectionately called "Little Fox," and to his right was Carla Bruni. Also present were Fernanda Lima, Daniela Pestova, Tricia Helfer, and Anneliese Seubert.
Last night, when the man left Manhattan, he had brought back 13 girls, saying it was for a horror movie night—13 being the perfect number. They had partied until the early hours of the morning.
Clearly, some were still in bed.
As for the newly favored "Little Fox," Roberta and Heidi didn't mind her much. But seeing Carla Bruni, the two couldn't help but slightly curl their lips. Heidi even leaned over to whisper in Roberta's ear, "She really has no shame. She's from Cindy's generation, yet she's hanging out with us."
Roberta wasn't as sharp-tongued as Heidi Klum, but she couldn't help but feel a bit critical as well.
Carla Bruni was part of the first generation of supermodels, alongside Cindy Crawford, Linda Evangelista, and Claudia Schiffer. Cindy and the others, either engaged, married, or having amassed significant wealth and status, rarely joined their younger counterparts in such escapades. But Carla Bruni? This wasn't her first time.
Then again, everyone knew Carla had a thing for wealthy men, and a certain someone happened to be at the very top of that pyramid.
While internally critical, their greetings were warm.
After saying good morning, the two found seats at the long dining table, which could easily accommodate twenty people, ordered breakfast, and began listening to the ongoing conversation.
"I've been to Sands Point before. I came with my agent to look at houses, but they were too expensive. I never expected you to have a property here too, Simon. By the way, there's a Guggenheim Castle nearby. It's stunning," said Daniela Pestova. "Simon, why don't you build some castles too?"
"What's so great about castles? They're cold and unwelcoming," Tricia Helfer chimed in before Simon could respond. "Europe is full of abandoned castles, and they're not comfortable to live in."
Carla Bruni then interjected, turning to the man beside her, "I recently saw a news piece about the Hearst family completely relinquishing all rights to the Hearst Castle in San Simeon, California."
The room's sirens, aware of the drama from a few years ago, grew cautious at the mention of the Hearst name.
It was the "Little Fox" on Simon's other side who broke the silence, curious and also turning to Simon, "I've heard of Hearst Castle, but didn't the Hearst family donate it to the California government a long time ago?"
Simon, who knew a bit about the situation, wasn't as sensitive to the Hearst name as the women around him seemed to be. He smiled and explained, "On paper, it was donated, but according to the agreement at the time, the Hearst family still retained the right to live and vacation in the castle."
"I see. It's like those wealthy people's charitable foundations. On paper, it's a donation, but in reality, they still control it. Hypo—" Just as Fernanda Lima was about to say "hypocritical," she suddenly remembered that the man at the table was the wealthiest person in the world. She quickly swallowed the word and even stuck out her tongue in embarrassment.
The other women, seeing Fernanda's slip, couldn't help but smirk.
Heidi Klum finally found an opportunity to join the conversation, also looking at Simon across the table, "If it was part of the original donation agreement, why are they giving it up now?"
Simon shrugged slightly and smiled without answering.
Carla Bruni glanced at Heidi, "Do you really think it was 'voluntary'?"
At Carla's words, the women at the table began to speculate.
The Hearst family, once capable of inciting wars, had been on a downward trajectory in recent years. Even though Simon hadn't completely crushed them, both the family's assets and the influence of their media platforms had been steadily declining.
The world never lacked people willing to kick someone when they were down.
And if doing so could also curry favor with those in power, it was a win-win.
Take, for example, the Hearst family's most valuable remaining asset, the San Francisco Chronicle. Due to the feud between the Hearst family and the Westeros system, many newspaper partners had pulled out in recent years. With advertisers fleeing and circulation dropping, the Chronicle had been losing money for several consecutive quarters, its value plummeting to less than a third of what it once was. Rumors in the industry suggested the Hearst family was looking to sell the paper for $200 million—a bargain, but no one dared to touch it.
This time, the Hearst family's relinquishment of all rights to Hearst Castle was likely another case of someone seizing the opportunity to act.
Just like now, the news had seemingly coincidentally reached Simon's ears. If he were to inquire further, he would undoubtedly remember the person behind the move. It wasn't exactly a favor—Simon's favors weren't so easily given—but in the future, if their paths crossed, he might extend some courtesy in return.
Simon's courtesy, however, carried a value far beyond what most could offer.
This was the beginning of the intricate web of connections within the Westeros system.
Whether in politics or business, the reason old-money families held so much power lay in these connections. And as a behemoth like the Westeros system began to form its own intricate network, its roots would only grow deeper.
The busy fashion week continued.
After breakfast, some of the top models left, while others, either without work or having canceled their commitments, chose to stay.
Compared to the thousands or tens of thousands earned from a single show, spending more time with a certain man promised far greater benefits.
Though it was Friday, Simon hadn't scheduled any formal work, nor did he plan to visit any of his children. Even a father needed a break. So, in addition to the models who had followed him the previous night, he casually instructed that any top models in New York with free time could come over to relax.
Thus, the Westeros family's Black Hawk helicopter shuttled some models back to the city from the affluent Sands Point area on Long Island's North Shore, about 25 miles northeast of Manhattan, and returned with others.
As the helicopter hovered over Sands Point, a neighborhood brimming with mansions, Ines Cofanes, seated beside her sister Melania, peered out the window with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. Below was a white modern-style villa by the sea, its estate no smaller than the nearby mansion with its own castle.
The helicopter landed on the lawn, and as the stairs were lowered, Lyudmila Bessonovskaya, who clearly had a fondness for fur and was wearing a fluffy white stole despite the warm weather, hopped down. After asking a maid something, she dashed toward the villa.
The Cofanes sisters and a few other women disembarked but weren't as lucky.
A maid tasked with greeting them stopped the sisters, addressing Melania, "Miss Cofanes, this lady isn't on the list."
Melania, holding onto her slightly shorter but equally beautiful sister, replied, "This is my sister. I called Ms. Davis in Manhattan. Otherwise, do you think we'd have been allowed on the helicopter?"
The maid nodded, said to wait a moment, walked a short distance to make a call, and then returned, telling Melania, "Miss Cofanes, you can go ahead. This lady will need to wait."
Ines Cofanes immediately clung to her sister nervously.
Melania seemed to understand and whispered a few words to her sister, pushing her toward the other waiting women before heading to the villa herself.
Ines watched her sister walk away, then glanced nervously at the other women around her.
Next to her stood a pair of women who looked like twins. One of them smiled and leaned over, whispering, "Don't worry, it's just a free health check. Oh, by the way, I'm Amber Valletta."
Ines shook her hand, replying in slightly broken English, "I know you, Amber. I spent a few years in Milan."
Amber Valletta was one of Elite's top models in recent years.
The maid gestured for the remaining seven or eight women to follow, and as they walked, Amber asked Ines, "Are you a model too?"
Ines shook her head, "I'm a designer."
"Ah," Amber responded, not pressing further.
In the major fashion capitals of Europe, self-proclaimed designers were as common as models, but only a handful ever made it big.
Ines was also feeling insecure. She had come to New York to seek her sister's help after failing to make it in Milan.
The sisters were close, and Ines had long known that her sister had been kept by a certain billionaire for the past few years. However, she also knew that her sister had never gotten particularly close to the Westeros family, often going months without seeing him. This time, she didn't dare to hope for much.
Thinking this, Ines turned to the woman next to Amber, who looked strikingly similar, "Are you two twins?"
Amber Valletta, hearing this, pulled the other woman close, cheek to cheek, and asked, "Do we look alike?"
"Yes."
"We're not twins. This is Diane, Diane Kruger," Amber said. "I only recently found out there was a girl who looked so much like me."
Ines played along, showing surprise.
However, upon closer inspection, she noticed that Diane Kruger was slightly shorter than Amber. Beyond that, with their similar styling, they did look like twins.
As they chatted, the group entered the villa, where their phones and bags were collected and stored. They were then led to a waiting room.
After patiently waiting for over ten minutes, it was Ines's turn. She followed a maid to a nearby room, where she found several nurses inside. At a testing station, a nurse was handling some samples. Ines felt a bit uneasy but, figuring they weren't about to secretly kill her, quickly complied as the nurses went about their work.
About seven or eight minutes later, Ines walked out of the room, pressing a cotton ball to her arm where she'd been pricked. Her gait was slightly awkward from the discomfort as she returned to the waiting room, only then remembering.
Having spent two years in Milan, another world of glitz and glamour, she had heard some insider stories.
It was said that when wealthy tycoons invited models to private parties, they would first conduct health checks.
But she was Melania's sister.
This time, Ines had only wanted her sister to introduce her to the legendary billionaire, hoping to gain some support for her career.
Now… what was going on?
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