Matthews played along eagerly, his voice dripping with mock enthusiasm. “Amara, what’s this about? Does the company have a new, big project lined up?”
“Exactly.”
“I’ve heard whispers that the owner of The Secret Hour Club is a brilliant young talent, brought back at great expense by Bellemont’s top figure.”
“They say this person doesn’t get involved unless it’s a project worth over ten billion.”
“Bellemont’s business scene has been struggling recently, with half of the new development zone sitting empty. But rumor has it, this person is here specifically to tackle that.”
“My dad has ties to the top figure in Bellemont,” Amara said with a smug grin, basking in the attention. “If we can secure a slice of this project, we’ll be swimming in profits again.”
With that, Amara turned back to me, his eyes gleaming with smug satisfaction. “Cassia, I still remember how you almost wet yourself when you saw my family’s Bentley all those years ago. I still have it, you know. Can you drive now? If so, come work as my driver. I’ll let you take it for a spin.”
“I’ve only ever driven domestic cars,” I said with a calm shrug.
Laughter erupted once again, their voices filling the air.
Were their jokes truly that funny? Even when I had attended a stand-up comedy show at Mystique Lounge in the capital, the laughs hadn’t come this easily.
The longer I remained calm, the more their frustration grew. It was like punching cotton, with no resistance and no satisfaction. They started to get annoyed, especially Amara, who clearly enjoyed keeping me as her personal punching bag.
She pointed at a bottle of liquor on the table with a smug smile. “Cassia, have you ever tasted Screaming Eagle Sauvignon Blanc? It’s quite pricey. Here’s your chance to try it. If you finish the whole bottle, I’ll let you go.”
I didn’t drink; alcohol had a nasty way of messing with the mind.
“I don’t drink,” I replied, shaking my head.
The antics continued, and I couldn’t take it anymore. It was time to lay my cards on the table. “Amara, I’m the owner of The Secret Hour Club. The billion-dollar project you’re so eager to talk about? That’s mine.”
I spoke with a calm, unwavering seriousness.
Instead of believing, I was met with mocking expressions, like they were watching some kind of circus act.
And, predictably, they burst into laughter once again.
Matthews pointed at me with a smirk. "Cassia, you’ve really got guts. Did you major in boasting at Ivory Heights?"
"I’m dying over here! Why don’t you just claim to be Kaia Morgan while you’re at it?" Nyla joined in, her laughter ringing out like a bell.
I sighed, glancing at them with a mix of amusement and exasperation. "Is there something wrong with your perception? Have you ever seen an Ivory Heights grad working as a server?"
They paused, but the disdain still lingered in their eyes.
Amara sneered, her voice dripping with condescension. "Does it matter? Whether you’re a server or not, you’re still a pauper compared to me."
She stood, pointed at the bottle of liquor, and smirked. "Drink it, or I’ll smash it over your head. Your choice."
"If I drink it, can I leave?" I asked, my voice calm but laced with sarcasm.
Before I could say more, Gabriel suddenly stood up. He grabbed the bottle, inhaled deeply, and then, without a hint of hesitation, said, "I’ll drink it for her, and then she can go."
Why was he helping me?
Was he afraid that if I stayed, I’d lose my patience and bring up that night?
I stared at him, my heart tangled with emotions I couldn't quite keep in check.
Just then, the door to Amber Crescent Pavilion creaked open.
Westley and Jaxon walked in, one after the other, making a subtle but noticeable entrance.
Jaxon, a familiar face in the local news, drew immediate recognition from the room.
Westley, my assistant, had also been in the public eye enough to be somewhat known.
As soon as Amara spotted them, her eyes lit up with a sudden eagerness. She practically flew across the room, her smile oozing sweetness as she bowed. "Uncle Jaxon, Assistant Westley, what brings you here today?"
The others quickly followed suit, rising from their seats in unison.
I, however, remained firmly planted on the oak barrel, unbothered.
Amara’s sharp gaze flicked to me, and she scolded, her voice thick with anger, "Cassia, get up! Don’t you see who’s here?"
