Leaving behind a stunned crowd, they walked through the grand entrance as whispers rippled in their wake.
"Did you hear? Sterling family...!"
"Impossible, aren’t they never seen together in public?"
"And that young man—who is he?"
Even in a place where millionaires ca to sip cocktails like it was lemonade, the word Sterling hit different. In LA’s upper crust, they were the kind of family people only saw traces of... like a shadow passing behind a curtain. To have nearly the whole clan waiting at the front steps? It was like seeing unicorns casually grazing in Beverly Hills. And the fact they were there for him... well, Rex had just been upgraded from "handso stranger" to "new gossip headline."
By the ti the group entered the hotel, the buzz was already taking root. Unknown to Rex, tonight his na would start circulating in every cigar lounge and wine cellar where the city’s elite gathered.
But he wasn’t paying attention to any of that.
Inside, the atmosphere shifted. The Biltmore wasn’t just a hotel, it was the hotel, a century-old monunt wrapped in chandeliers and velvet. The lobby soared overhead with ornate ceilings, pillars carved with old-world craftsmanship, and crystal lights dripping like frozen fireworks. There was the faintest scent of polished wood and expensive perfu lingering in the air, a fragrance that whispered of generations of secrets traded within these walls.
The hotel manager himself ca hurrying over, all smiles and deferential bows, as though royalty had just walked in. "This way, please," he said, leading them not toward any ordinary suite, but toward the private wings reserved only for the truly untouchable. Rooms so exclusive they didn’t even show up on booking systems; you either had the power to be offered one, or you didn’t exist.
Rex glanced around with open curiosity, taking it all in... the statues tucked into corners, the paintings that seed older than the city itself, the little golden plaques commorating events that once shook the world.
Vivienne noticed. She stepped up beside him, her voice soft but clear, almost like a guide giving a personal tour, and her voice carrying the kind of practiced ease of soone who had grown up around such places but knew how to make them sound approachable.
She slowed her pace so Rex could keep up, Arabella still glued to his side like a stubborn kitten. "So," she said, sweeping a hand up at the arches, "welco to the Biltmore. Or as people used to call it, the ’Host of the Coast.’ Fancy, right? You know. It’s practically a ti capsule of Los Angeles."
She gestured at the arched ceiling above them, painted like so European cathedral. "They say when this opened in the 1920s, it was the largest hotel west of Chicago. Back then, the city was still figuring out if it wanted to be an oil town or a film town. The hotel decided for them... it beca the place everyone had to be seen."
Arabella tugged at Rex’s sleeve. "Were there parties?"
"Oh, plenty," Vivienne smiled. "Gloria Swanson, Al Capone... nas people whispered about. They said even so of the Presidential Suite’s liquor storage rooms were used for hush-hush rather than stay-as-guest stuff."
Rex laughed softly. "I bet the walls there could talk."
"Back in the 1920s, this was the spot. Politicians, movie stars, gangsters, everybody ca here. If these walls could talk, they’d probably be on the FBI’s most-wanted list."
Rex raised a brow. "Gangsters?"
"Oh, totally," Vivienne smirked. "There was a whole speakeasy scene here during Prohibition. Secret tunnels, hidden liquor stashes, champagne flowing when it wasn’t even legal to own the bottle.
During Prohibition, it was one of the worst-kept secrets in Los Angeles. Jazz bands played until sunrise, movie stars sneaked in wearing masks, and politicians pretended not to notice each other while trading favors." Her eyes glimred with a hint of amusent. "They say even Al Capone himself walked through these halls... suited up, drinking whiskey like it was water, Though whether that’s true or just good marketing, no one knows."
She paused in the Rendezvous Court—the lobby’s grand hall—where towering arches rose three stories high, travertine walls gleaming under imported bronze fixtures. She gestured upward. "This hall," she said, voice low enough that only Rex and Arabella beside him really tuned in, "was designed to feel like stepping inside a Spanish cathedral. When it opened in 1923, people said it was the grandest welco on the West Coast."
"They say Walt Disney once sketched out early designs for Disneyland while drinking coffee in the Rendezvous Court."
A waiter passed, polishing a bronze railing, and Rex’s reflection flickered next to those arches... rich, elegant, and almost surreal. Vivienne smiled at the effect. "They didn’t spare expense. Every room had its own bath, back then that was luxury you read about in magazines, not sothing you got as an expectation."
And over there—" she pointed toward the Gold Room, "—that was basically a Prohibition playground. Think jazz, sequins, cigars, and a whole lot of bad decisions."
Arabella’s eyes widened, clearly intrigued. "Like the movies?"
"Exactly like the movies," Vivienne said with a grin. "Except the people here were the movies. Charlie Chaplin threw parties. Walt Disney sketched things in these lounges. Marilyn Monroe actually lived here for a while. And presidents? Oh, this place had them too... FDR, Truman, Kennedy.
Vivienne led Rex down a polished marble hallway, her heels clicking softly on the tiles that reflected both chandelier light and Leo-gold accents, footsteps echoing, each corner turning into a snapshot of history.
They stopped in the Music Room, which now functioned more as a calm lounge. Vivienne gestured around. "This was Kennedy’s campaign HQ in 1960, across from where Lyndon Johnson’s folks were. Sa building. War rooms. Imagine deciding the future of the country in a hotel suite, with room service delivering steak on silver platters."
Rex chuckled. "Sounds like democracy runs on five-star catering."
"Anyways, every ti Hollywood wanted sothing with ’old money mystery’ vibes, they ended up here. Half the directors in town treated this place like their second living room."
(End of Chapter)
Author’s Note:
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