At the Channing family villa.
"Wow!"
As soon as they arrived, Monica and Max were both momentarily stunned.
It couldn't be helped—women naturally have no resistance to shiny things.
And the banquet hall was dazzling.
"This is how rich people celebrate birthdays," Monica sighed.
Her family wasn't exactly poor, and she had attended some high-society events before, but compared to this, there was simply no comparison.
"I didn't even know birthdays needed to be celebrated," Max muttered. "My mom just narrowed my birthday down to a two-week window."
"That's all superficial," Adam said with a smile. "If you're living well, every day is a birthday. If you're not, every day is a funeral."
"Well said," Max praised. "Is that another one of those profound sayings from the East?"
"Yes," Adam replied with a straight face. "Anytime you hear something deeply philosophical, it's from those three brothers."
In truth, this was a realization from Adam's past life.
In movies and TV shows, birthdays always seemed like the most important thing in the world.
It was almost like, "You only lost a leg, but she missed her birthday party!"
In his past life, Adam had never celebrated a birthday, nor had most of the people around him, and no one seemed to be any worse off for it.
Most of the time, birthday parties weren't for the person celebrating but for everyone else watching.
Happiness is all about comparison—people like to show it off.
Everyone knows it.
And Carolyn Channing's party was a perfect example.
Unlike a typical birthday party, this was a coming-of-age celebration.
In other words, Carolyn Channing had officially turned eighteen, and her family was publicly announcing her entry into society.
It was somewhat similar to the jìjī ceremony that ancient Eastern girls had at fifteen.
The wealthier the family, the more extravagant the event.
This coming-of-age party was as grand as a wedding.
And just like a wedding, Adam and the others hadn't even seen the main star of the night yet. Carolyn Channing would only make her grand entrance at the right moment, dressed like a princess, walking down the stairs on her father's arm under the gaze of the entire crowd.
"Excuse me for a moment—I need to say hello to some people," Peter said as he led Monica away.
At an event like this, he had acquaintances to greet.
"So, are we just going to stand here like idiots?" Max grumbled. "I told you we shouldn't have come."
"What about now?"
Adam plucked two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter's tray and handed one to Max with a grin.
"I'm starting to like this place a little more," Max admitted.
She enjoyed drinking, but usually, she only had access to beer or cocktails. Champagne, especially high-end champagne like this, was a rare treat.
Adam didn't know many people at the event either, but he wasn't in a hurry. He leisurely strolled around the venue with Max, taking in the scene.
"This year's returns are fantastic. Martin really is a genius investor—we can trust him."
"Absolutely. Outside of Wall Street, the line to get into Martin's investment fund stretches all the way to Los Angeles. Luckily, we got in early. With our capital, we probably wouldn't even qualify to join now."
"Martin built his empire from nothing. In just a few decades, he's amassed billions. He's the embodiment of the American Dream."
Small groups of elite guests were gathered around, discussing investments and heaping praise on the host of the evening—Martin Channing.
Adam found it amusing.
"Is this Martin guy really that impressive?" Max asked in a hushed voice. "Did you invest any money with him?"
"No," Adam shook his head with a meaningful smile. "I don't qualify."
"Good," Max exhaled in relief, clutching her chest. "Someone this 'brilliant' sounds like a scam artist. Not investing was the right move."
Adam gave her an appreciative look but said nothing. He simply clinked his glass against hers and took a deep sip.
Logically, every one of these so-called elites should have had better financial instincts than Max.
Yet, they were all completely immersed in the illusion Martin Channing had created.
Not one of them stopped to consider the simple logic—was it really reasonable for an investment of that scale to maintain such astronomical returns year after year?
When the bubble burst and the truth about Martin's scheme came to light, there would be bankruptcies and suicides all across New York and the American financial sector.
But whose fault would it be?
Was Martin too skilled?
No.
They were simply too greedy.
Blinded by the prospect of massive profits, they became fools.
Max, who had no financial education and whom these elites would sneer at as "low-class," had spotted the problem instantly, purely on instinct.
Now that was ironic.
Seeing Adam's expression, Max tilted her head and gleefully downed the rest of her champagne.
She understood.
This was the first time Adam had looked at her like that.
He hadn't said a word, but the silent admiration in his gaze spoke volumes.
"I'm done—drink at your own pace! Same goes for tonight when we get back!"
"Pfft!"
The quiet understanding between them was instantly shattered by Max's suggestive joke.
Adam nearly spat out his champagne.
"You sure about that?"
Adam's interest was piqued.
"Of course."
Max smirked. "Tonight, I'm all yours..."
Just then, the music changed, the lights dimmed, and a spotlight illuminated the top of the staircase.
Everyone turned to look.
A stunning blonde beauty, escorted by a refined-looking man, began her descent.
"She really does look like a princess," Max murmured, momentarily lost in thought.
"Every woman is a princess. She is, and so are you," Adam said with a smile. "Who knows? Maybe you two will become best friends one day."
"Hah!"
Max was so amused she almost burst out laughing—until Adam, with lightning-fast reflexes, clamped a hand over her mouth.
Still, she had already drawn some attention, including that of the night's star, Carolyn Channing.
The smile on Carolyn's face momentarily froze, but years of etiquette training helped her resist the urge to glare at Max.
"Don't let it bother you, sweetheart," her father, Martin, whispered, feeling her grip tighten around his arm. "Tonight is your special night."
"I know," Carolyn composed herself and continued her elegant descent.
Meanwhile…
"Sorry," Max whispered, realizing she had caused a scene.
"It's fine," Adam said. "But was it really that funny?"
"You said I'm a princess and that I might become best friends with her?"
Max barely held back another laugh. "How is that not funny? It's the biggest joke I've ever heard!"
"Hey, you never know. Dreams can come true," Adam teased.
"Oh yeah?"
Max's eyes twinkled mischievously. "If that actually happens, and she's okay with it, then I'm all in!"
Adam's smile twitched.
"What? Don't like the idea?"
Max smirked. "Come on, you guys love this stuff. Too bad—it's never gonna happen."
"You sure about that?"
Adam grinned. "I'm keeping track of this."
"Go ahead," Max shrugged. "If I somehow end up best friends with a rich princess like her, it's gotta be divine intervention. At that point, anything goes!"
Adam laughed, his smile growing increasingly… mischievous.