Max only gave a quick glance, remaining calm. On the left side, a row of drink tables was attended by bartenders wearing white jackets and silk gloves. Old wine bottles from Château Margaux and Romanée-Conti were displayed on glass shelves, each worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. Some guests sipped special edition Armand de Brignac champagne, its bottles coated in pure gold. The atmosphere inside was not just luxurious, it was truly exclusive. Guests spoke in a mix of languages. Some spoke Vesulan, Mororwian, even French and Italian. Their voices were low and calm, filled with confidence. The air was filled with the scent of niche perfumes made in limited quantities: Oud from Arabia, French extrait de parfum, and cinnamon from India. Frans even saw a woman walking past him wearing a haute couture gown sewn with platinum threads, paired with a rare blue diamond necklace that was probably worth more than everything inside his house. In the corner of the room stood a small st

A waiter wearing a black suit with a satin tie looked panicked for a moment, but quickly composed himself and stood straight in front of the round table, his voice still polite and formal. “Does anyone here have a personal doctor tonight?” he asked, looking at the thirteen guests seated around him. “There is an emergency… a guest suddenly fell ill and needs immediate medical treatment." Some of the guests just exchanged glances, then slowly shook their heads. A man in a dark blue Zegna suit looked at the waiter with a faint smile and said, “Of course we did not bring a personal doctor to a business gala premiere. We came here to discuss business, not to treat someone who is sick.” A few other people at the table chuckled softly, clearly showing their indifference. They went back to their conversations, sipping wine, and occasionally laughing lightly, as if the waiter's problem did not exist. At that moment, Max leaned forward and looked at the waiter who seemed hesitant. “What h

As soon as Max and Frans sat back down in their seats, the table grew silent again. But the old man in the black suit, who had been belittling Max Corp from the start, immediately opened his mouth. His eyes were sharp, and his voice was full of mockery. "Where have you two been?" he asked loudly, making every head turn. "How dare you leave the dinner table during a gala dinner? That is disrespectful!" Frans tensed up, but Max remained calm. The old man lifted his chin high, speaking with a tone full of authority. "For this insolence, Max Corp deserves punishment. Do you think you can do as you please in Vesula? No. Everyone here must obey the rules!" He glanced at Max with a mocking smile, his eyes filled with disdain. "Now answer. Who holds the highest position in Max Corp?" The table fell silent again. Everyone waited curiously. Max lifted his head slightly, looking coldly at the old man, and replied flatly without the slightest hesitation. "Me. I am the owner of Max Corp."

All the guests held their breath, their eyes now full of hope as they looked at Dixon. Oscar, the second richest billionaire in Vesula, sat with his chest puffed out. His hands adjusted the dark blue silk tie that could buy a luxury house. He smiled slightly, certain his name would be called. “This is my moment,” he whispered to himself. For him, becoming the gala chairman was the recognition he needed to solidify his dominance in Vesula’s business world. But he was not the only one confident of his chances. Yoseph, a 67-year-old man, sat upright with a face full of certainty. As the largest investor in Vesula, he felt his contributions could not be ignored. Over the past ten years, his company had supported almost half of Vesula’s economy. “If not me, then who is more worthy?” Yoseph thought. He had even prepared a short speech in case Dixon called his name, a speech about devotion and prosperity. On the other side of the room, Oyuma, an elderly man from a Vesula noble fam

Those words were delivered with extreme caution, full of formality. But it was clear, Yaqub was pressing Dixon. Max glanced briefly, but said nothing. He knew this was not the time to interrupt. Dixon lifted his teacup, blew across its surface, then sipped slowly. His expression did not change, calm like a stone cliff. Only after that did he look straight into Yaqub’s eyes. “There was nothing hasty about it, Yaqub. I know only Max is capable of controlling those elites.” Dixon was certain that Max possessed extraordinary ability, proven when he healed him in just one minute. Dixon believed Max was the heir to the power of the ancient gods. Yaqub lowered his head, but his fingers twisted nervously on the table. In his heart, he carried deep doubt. “A young man, not even thirty years old… leading the billionaires of Vesula? That is madness.” Yet Dixon’s sharp gaze tied his tongue. He knew that pushing further meant defying a man whose name even the top conglomerates feared.