Beggar Husband is now a Quadrillionaire Heir

Chapter 8

The boutique remained frozen in shocked silence. Harold Brennan's face had gone from purple to an unhealthy shade of white. The blonde woman looked like she might faint. Victoria Walsh had collapsed into one of the velvet chairs, her career in ruins.

Even Joshua stood speechless for a moment. He owned this store? He owned the entire Laurent company? The revelation was as shocking to him as it was to everyone else.

"Mr. Hart." George Laurent's voice was gentle, apologetic. "I cannot express how deeply sorry I am for this disgraceful incident. Please, allow me to make amends."

"It's... it's fine," Joshua managed, still processing.

"It is not fine." George shook his head firmly. "You came here to be outfitted properly, and instead you were treated like a criminal. Victoria Walsh, you are dismissed. Security will escort you out."

Victoria's pleas fell on deaf ears as two guards appeared to remove her from the premises. Harold and the blonde woman slipped out quietly, their earlier bravado completely evaporated.

George turned back to Joshua with renewed determination. "Now, let us focus on what matters. A proper suit for this evening's engagement. Ideally, I would create something entirely bespoke for you—every measurement perfect, every stitch by hand. However, such a garment requires a week to complete."

"A week is too long," Monica interjected smoothly. "Mr. Hart needs something tonight."

"Indeed." George nodded. "Fortunately, I have just completed a piece for another client—similar build, excellent taste. With minor alterations, it will be perfect." He gestured toward the fitting room. "This way, Mr. Hart."

Thirty minutes later, Joshua stood before the mirror in a charcoal gray suit that fit like it had been painted on. The fabric was so fine it seemed to shimmer, and the cut made him look taller, more commanding. He barely recognized himself.

"Perfect," George declared with satisfaction. "Absolutely perfect."

Monica smiled approvingly. "The car is waiting, Mr. Hart. We should go."

The drive to The White Whale took twenty minutes through the city's most affluent district. The restaurant itself was housed in a gleaming skyscraper, its top three floors dedicated entirely to dining. As they pulled up to the entrance, valets in crisp uniforms rushed to open Monica's door.

"This way, Mr. Hart." Monica led him through a lobby that looked more like a palace than a restaurant—marble columns, crystal chandeliers, and artwork that probably cost more than most houses.

The maître d' took one look at Monica and bowed deeply. "Ms. Sterling. Mr. Hart. Mr. Gatti is expecting you. Please, follow me."

They bypassed the main elevators entirely, stepping into a private lift marked "VIP ONLY." As they ascended, Monica explained quietly, "The top floor is reserved for fewer than one hundred people in this entire city. CEOs, politicians, old money families. And now, you."

The elevator doors opened onto a space that took Joshua's breath away. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the city lights. The dining area was intimate—only a handful of private rooms, each sealed behind frosted glass doors.

The maître d' led them to the largest room at the far end. Inside, a distinguished man in his fifties rose from his seat. Lorenzo Gatti had the look of someone who had been powerful for so long he wore it like a second skin—silver hair, sharp eyes, and a smile that was both warm and calculating.

"Ms. Sterling." Lorenzo shook Monica's hand, then turned to Joshua with genuine respect. "And you must be Mr. Hart. It's an absolute honor."

"Mr. Gatti." Joshua shook his hand, still adjusting to being treated like royalty.

"Please, call me Lorenzo. After all, Galaxy Tech's support and investment have been instrumental in my success. Without your company's backing, I wouldn't be where I am today." Lorenzo gestured to the seats. "Please, sit. I've ordered the chef's special selection."

They settled into conversation—business talk that Joshua barely followed, Lorenzo's careful probing about Galaxy Tech's future plans, Monica's smooth deflections. After about twenty minutes, Joshua felt the need to excuse himself.

"Restroom?" he asked quietly.

"Just outside, turn left," Lorenzo said. "Can't miss it."

But Joshua did miss it. Unfamiliar with the layout, he turned right instead of left, pushed through a door, and found himself not in a hallway but in the main dining hall—a vast space filled with tables of well-dressed patrons.

"Why are you here again?"

The voice cut through the ambient conversation like a blade. Cold. Disgusted. Immediately familiar.

Joshua's head snapped toward the source. Sitting at a prominent table near the center of the room was Natalie Cavesh—his wife. Her dark hair was swept up elegantly, her burgundy dress expensive and perfectly fitted. And beside her, sitting far too close, was Mark Sullivan.

Natalie's eyes narrowed as she recognized him. "Are you following me now? What is this, some new scheme to scam money out of me?"

Joshua's jaw tightened. "I'm here on business, Natalie. Not everything revolves around you."

She laughed—a sharp, mocking sound. "Business? You? What business could you possibly have here? Did they hire you to wash dishes?"

Mark smirked, leaning back in his chair with obvious enjoyment. "Maybe he's collecting trash. They do keep this place awfully clean."

"I'm a paying customer," Joshua said evenly, though his hands clenched at his sides.

"A paying customer." Natalie's voice dripped with scorn. "With what money, Joshua? The allowance I generously give you? Oh wait—I suspended that, didn't I? After you assaulted my assistant."

"I didn't assault anyone, and you know it."

"I know what I saw," Natalie said coldly. "A desperate, useless man trying to extort money through violence. You have no ambition, no drive, no future. So tell me—what legitimate business brings someone like you to The White Whale?"

Joshua's eyes shifted to Mark, who was practically preening in his expensive suit. "I could ask you the same question. What kind of business meeting requires you to bring your male assistant? Or is this not business at all?"

Natalie's face flushed with anger. "How dare you imply—"

"It's a simple question," Joshua interrupted. "Is this a business meeting or a date?"

"You have a filthy mind," Natalie hissed. "Not that it's any of your concern, but I'm here because I heard that Lorenzo Gatti—the richest man in the city—would be dining here tonight. Unlike you, I actually try to advance my career. I network. I build connections. I don't just sit around feeling sorry for myself."

"That's right," Mark added smugly. "Some of us have ambition. Some of us know how to seize opportunities. And some of us—" he looked pointedly at Joshua, "—are just dead weight."

"Lorenzo Gatti," Joshua repeated slowly. "That's who you're here to meet?"

"Not that you'd understand," Natalie said with a dismissive wave. "Networking with people of influence requires a certain... caliber. Something you've never possessed."

"Natalie's being modest," Mark interjected. "With her business acumen and my connections, we're bound to make an impression on Mr. Gatti. This could be huge for Cavesh Industries."

Joshua stared at them—at Natalie's cold, beautiful face, at Mark's smug expression, at the way they sat together like a couple. Something inside him shifted.

"I see," he said quietly. "Good luck with that."

He turned to leave, but Natalie's voice followed him.