****** “This…” Bianca’s words sliced through the air like a dull, broken bell. Everyone was stupefied... no, shattered to their very core upon seeing Bianca drop to her knees and hearing the desperate, pathetic plea that followed. It wasn’t just shocking. It was jarring. Like witnessing a courtroom judge crawl across the floor to beg a parking officer for forgiveness. Even Glenn... eternally unfazed, expressionless, a walking monument to apathy, couldn’t help but pause. Not much. Just a small hitch in his stillness. A blink that lasted a breath longer than usual. And a faint twitch in his brow. He tilted his head slowly, as if trying to determine whether the voice had come from a delusion or if perhaps someone had slipped something into his drink. Then he turned his head… leisurely, like one might glance at a fly that’s landed on the windowsill. And he saw it. Bianca, knees pressed to the polished floor, her designer skirt crumpled, and her mascara beginni

******“We screamed at him. Threatened to boycott the place. Insulted him like he was trash.”“All based on nothing. No proof. Just her tears and fake stories.”“We’re monsters…”“We don’t deserve to be called people…”“What would have happened if she hadn’t ended up revealing the truth herself?”The air thickened with regret. A few people quietly began weeping… not out of sympathy for Glenn, but from shame. Deep, acidic shame.And still… Glenn said nothing.He didn’t gloat.He didn’t sneer.He didn’t even look smug.He simply watched... like someone observing ants scramble after kicking their hill.His silence was more damning than a thousand insults.Then—A quiet movement on the floor. It was… Stanley, the only one who had yet to say a word since Bianca’s unraveling began.His lips parted slightly, his eyes wide and glassy as he turned his battered face toward his girlfriend, the love of his life… the person he had planned to spend the rest of his life with.The bet

******The old manager of Velvet Dine finally exhaled after a moment. The sound of it was heavy… wounded, like the rusted groan of a ship giving in to a storm. That breath alone conveyed a thousand buried regrets, an avalanche of grief no words could ever carry.Then, slowly, he turned toward his son.And in that moment, the restaurant’s manager aged by a decade.His back curved under invisible weight. His face paled into parchment. His fingers trembled as they hovered, hesitated, then finally reached for the broken body of his one and only child.He picked the harder choice… his blood.Because even if it cost him everything, if Stanley were to die while he stood there choosing pride or protocol, he would never, ever forgive himself. Not even in death.His eyes turned bloodshot. “S-Someone… someone call an ambulance! Please! Don’t just stand there like statues!” he cried, panic fraying every syllable as he stumbled toward Stanley’s crumpled form.But no one moved.The room ha

******Everyone watched Bianca as she limped away, her posture reeking not of shame, but of bitter determination and seething obsession.Her eyes burned with the unhinged glint of a fresh scheme, her back rigid as if she were strutting toward conquest rather than stumbling from disgrace. Not once did she spare Stanley… even as his unconscious body lay sprawled pathetically on the floor, and his frantic father hovered over him like a broken ghost, so much as a backward glance.There was no remorse in her steps. No regret on her shoulders. Only fury and resentment at herself… for not realizing Glenn’s worth before her humiliation began. And when the crowd saw this… when they truly processed the audacity of her attitude, even after everything, they felt their disgust surge past boiling point.Their expressions turned stormy, twisted with fury and nausea. One by one, as though releasing a valve long held shut, the venom in their hearts erupted in whispers and muttered curses:“What a

******Glenn reached for his water, took a slow sip, then frowned lightly. The kind of frown one might wear when a pen runs out of ink mid-sentence.‘If I were no longer interested?’ he echoed internally, mildly puzzled. ‘Who said I’d be full even if I ate triple this amount?’Of course, only God… or fate knew what kind of cardiac episode the middle-aged man would have suffered if he had heard Glenn’s thoughts just then.“You can go ahead and tell the kitchen to prepare the rest,” Glenn said finally, still as serene and detached as ever.The manager nearly stumbled over his own legs trying to stand, but managed to regain his balance and nodded frantically.“Yes, Boss. Right away,” he replied, bowing deeply before turning to relay the order.But before he could take three steps—“You know what? You can hold off for a bit,” Glenn added idly. “Or just give them a call.”“Yes, Boss,” the man replied instantly, pivoting to the telecom panel on the wall. He picked up the receiver a