After Prison, I Became The Chairman Of Olympus

009: The Guest List

The ballroom looked like something built for royalty that no longer existed anywhere else in the world — crystal chandeliers dripping light onto marble floors, tables bowing under the weight of food no one would finish, wine flowing so freely half the room had already lost count of their glasses. Crown City's elite drifted between conversations in tailored silk and diamonds, laughter rising and falling like its own kind of music, glasses clinking bright and constant under the light.

Vanessa swept in on Nolan's arm, black dress cut sharp, hair pulled back into a ponytail so severe it looked expensive on purpose.

"Fuck," Nolan breathed, eyes dragging across the chandeliers, the tables, the sheer obscenity of it all. "This is some serious extravagance. You think anyone would notice if a few of these forks went missing? We could pawn this whole table and retire early."

"Nolan." Vanessa's grip tightened on his arm, smile never slipping. "Everyone in this room is Crown City elite. You will not embarrass me tonight."

"I'm just saying—"

"And stop saying fuck every five seconds," she hissed, low and sharp, still smiling for the room. "These people don't curse, they insinuate. Learn the difference in the next ten minutes, or wait for me in the car."

"Okay, okay." He straightened his jacket, chastened for exactly as long as it took her attention to drift elsewhere. "Baby. Guys are positioned outside, by the way. Banquet wraps, we grab Derek wherever he's staying. I want to hear every bone in that family break myself."

Vanessa's smile turned devilish, pleased — and then her eyes caught on a figure standing alone near the tall windows, back to the crowd.

"Wait." Her voice sharpened instantly. "Is that — that's Derek. What the hell is that loser doing here?"

"Fuck. How does a broke nobody get into something like this?" Nolan snapped.

"His father paid five thousand for the invitation," Nolan added a beat later, having apparently asked someone already. "Bought it off a reseller, I heard."

"That's not even fair," Vanessa muttered, already moving, heels striking marble like a countdown clock.

They stopped a few feet behind him.

"Well, well." Her voice carried now, confident, emboldened by the small crowd already glancing their way. "How exactly does a loser like you end up on a guest list like this one?"

Derek didn't turn.

"I'm not scared of you anymore, Derek," she went on, circling slightly, savoring every syllable. "Not after yesterday. And honestly? You're dragging the class of this entire room down just by breathing in it."

I don't want blood at my own engagement, Derek thought, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the skyline through the glass. Those two bitches are mine the second this is over.

He said nothing. Looked back out the window.

Vanessa didn't take the hint. "God, you've got nerve showing up here. Is that suit stolen or borrowed? Do you even know how much one table at this banquet costs?" She laughed, delighted with her own cruelty. "You couldn't afford it if you sold your ass for a full year. Get lost, or I'll call security myself. Wouldn't that make a nice headline — 'ex-con removed from society event.'"

Nolan laughed, stepping up beside her, grinning wide now that a crowd had started to gather. "Be a good boy, Derek. Get on your knees, lick our shoes clean, and maybe I'll let you stick around for the leftovers. Consider it charity." He tilted his head, mock-thoughtful. "Might even start seeing you as my little brother. Every rich man needs a pet to feel generous about."

Derek said nothing, letting them talk, letting the words pile up like kindling he hadn't decided yet whether to burn.

Then he reached over and set his wine glass down on the windowsill, slow and deliberate, the small click of glass against marble the only sound he'd made since they arrived.

He turned to face them.

"Piss off," he said, calm, almost bored. "I smell sewer rats."

Nolan's grin died instantly. "Excuse me? Fuck — you ex-convict piece of—nobody talks to me like that. Nobody."

"This is the Hayden family's engagement banquet," Vanessa cut in, voice climbing, rising fast enough to catch the attention of nearby guests. "And you've decided to start trouble here? You won't live to see tomorrow's sunrise, Derek, I promise you that."

Her voice kept climbing, sharper, louder, until it cut clean across the entire ballroom. Conversations died mid-sentence. Wine glasses paused halfway to open mouths. Every face in the room turned toward the three of them like the whole banquet had been rehearsing for exactly this moment.

"You want to know what he really is?" Vanessa shouted, spinning to address the room now, arms wide, playing to the crowd like she'd been born for exactly this stage. "Worthless. His whole family's worthless — his parents are bugs, living in a trash heap, and he's the single biggest waste of oxygen in this entire city!"

Silence rippled outward. Somewhere near the bar, a woman's hand went still around her champagne flute, glass frozen halfway to her lips.

Derek stepped forward, something dark and quiet moving behind his eyes. "Careful," he said, voice low enough that only Vanessa and Nolan could hear it. "Satan's calling you home. Sounds like he wants his voice back."

"Who," said a new voice, smooth and cold as poured steel, "is making this kind of racket at my honored guests' banquet?"

Darius emerged from the crowd like he'd been standing there the entire time, waiting for exactly this cue, guests parting instinctively around him without being asked, the way a room parts for weather rather than a man.

Vanessa's face drained a shade paler.

"Honey," she whispered to Nolan, gripping his arm hard enough to whiten her own knuckles. "That's him. That's the old man from yesterday — the one backing that loser. He didn't even flinch when we mentioned Iron Talon."

"Do you recognize him?" she hissed, eyes darting between Darius and Nolan's suddenly uncertain face. "Do you actually know who that is?"

Nolan's grin had entirely vanished, replaced by something closer to genuine unease as Darius's gaze swept slowly across the two of them — unreadable, patient, and utterly unbothered by the hundred pairs of eyes now watching every second of it unfold.