"Did you hear? The only daughter of the Bicelar Group is getting engaged and her fiancé is the son of the Basinger Family. Miss Thomas has liked Mr. Basinger since childhood. Last night, she even bought all the fireworks in the city to propose to him."
"Not just that! There was also a drone show, must've been over a thousand drones. I heard Miss Thomas designed the whole performance for Mr. Basinger herself. I'm so jealous."
I stood frozen in place, dazed, when my phone rang, it was the manager from another part-time job calling, "Ernest, there's a client tonight throwing a bachelor party. They want a mascot performance and the pay's good. You said you needed money, right? I personally vouched for you, so don't let me down."
I wanted to refuse, but this manager had always been good to me. He always thought of me first when jobs came up and I didn't want to make things hard for him, so I agreed.
Besides, I had no intention of using Ariana's check and I had already given her all my savings. I still needed to survive.
I used the money I earned from that escape room gig to pay the hospital bill. It was the first time in three years I had spent money on myself.
After all, Ariana no longer needed my petty scraps. I gave a bitter smile. Well then, Ariana's game of 'princess-turned-beggar' was over. Time for her to return to the man she loved.
They were the real match, equal in status and looks. We were never from the same world to begin with.
Those past three years, I'd treat them as a bitter but sweet dream.
Now that I had woken up, it was time we returned to our rightful places. But I never expected that the client throwing the bachelor party would be Lance Basinger.
In the private room, besides Lance, there were other wealthy heiresses and young heiress, all looking at me with contempt.
Lance arrogantly threw a set of clothes at my feet, "I heard from your manager that you’re the best at entertaining guests. Then put this on and make my friends happy."
It was a clown outfit, but a strange one. The fabric was so skimpy it barely covered anything.
I replied politely, "Mr. Basinger, this doesn't comply with our work policy. I've prepared a cat costume and can perform magic tricks for you and your guests."
The next second, a crisp slap landed hard on my face, it felt burned.
Lance, who was so generous and considerate just days ago, now sneered coldly, "What a joke. In your line of work, the client is the king. If you won't change, then I'll assume your manager deceived me and his place can kiss its business goodbye."
For people like them, ruining a small business was as easy as lifting a finger. I couldn't drag the manager down with me. Clenching my teeth, I picked up the clown costume and began putting it on.
But Lance said lazily, "Wait. Don't you have any professionalism? Take off all your clothes first, right in front of us. So we know you won't run."
At that, the men on the sofa stared at me with disgusting, lecherous eyes.
If I still couldn't tell that Lance was deliberately humiliating me, then I really was a fool.
"Sorry, I can't fulfill your request. I don't want the pay either. Please find someone else, Mr. Basinger." I turned to leave, but two men held me down firmly.
One of them kicked my knee hard. The pain made me collapse to the floor.
Lance walked over and slapped me a dozen times. Then he mocked, "Now that's more like it. People like you, pathetic and poor, should know your place on your knees."
He grabbed my hair and forced me to look up at him, "So she told you her mom was sick in bed? That she was deep in debt, right? That was all a lie to trick a fool like you. And you actually fell for it, what a devoted little lapdog."
