The lobby of the Sovereign Tower was exactly what Phei expected from a building that existed solely to remind everyone else they were poor.
Marble floors polished to such a shine he could see up his own nostrils if he looked down. Modern art installations that probably cost more than organs on the black market—abstract chrome shapes that looked like a robot had sneezed and someone had framed it.
Subtle lighting that made everything glow like heaven's waiting room, if heaven had a velvet rope and a net worth requirement.
The kind of hushed elegance that whispered you don't belong here to anyone who didn't have at least eight figures in their bank account.
Good thing Phei had documents that said otherwise.
He approached the reception desk, bag slung over one shoulder, actively fighting the urge to gawk like a peasant visiting the castle.
Play it cool. You live here now. Act like you've seen marble before.
