RISE OF THE SCORNFUL CRYPTO LORD

2. THE GALA WHERE THEY SHAMED ME

Liam's POV

I fell asleep just thinking about how wicked I'd be till I closed my eyes and fell asleep. When I woke up I realized my guest room was dark. The room has always been and I'm sure things will turn around for good soon. The creaky bed groaned as I sat and my mind wandered off to last night's discovery.

Soon enough, I started to think about scenarios in my head on how to make Nathan pay. But how would I hurt Nathan without hurting Claire or her dead father's legacy?

Claire knocked and entered, holding a black suit bag. “Liam, wear this tonight,” she said as her green eyes avoided mine. “You can’t go to the gala in your old clothes. They’ll laugh you out of the room.”

Does she think I’m too poor to look decent?

My face burned, but I did well to keep it in. “I have clothes,” I say, but she shook her head.

“Not for this crowd. You will look like you crawled out of that warehouse you work at,” she replied.

Is she embarrassed by me?

Back then, she’d smile at my cheap shirts, hold my hand in coffee shops. Now, she sounds like she’s looking down on me.

“I don’t want them mocking you more,” she added, quieter, but it doesn’t soften the sting I felt. “We are trying to meet with a potential buyer for my father's company.” She announced.

I wanted to ask what was wrong? Because until Mr. Edwards died, the business was moving with enough profits, but she spoke first. “If anyone asks who bought the suit, say it was your savings. Understand?” She leaves, and I’m left wondering if she’s protecting me or ashamed.

The suit fitted like a glove and was nothing like my usual jeans. I’m not poor. I manage a warehouse, have savings, but not enough to buy this suit.

I stood up and walked to the living room. Everywhere was unkempt. I heaved a sigh, and I wished all of the Harringtons dead except Claire. I picked up the plates they all used yesterday, reminding me that the last time I ate dinner on this table, Christopher had given me a strong punch and told me never to sit and eat on this table.

Since then, I eat before they eat, or I wait until they are done, or I don't eat at all.

Sometimes, Claire pities me and keeps some for me, warning me strictly to eat or eat at work before coming home.

I can't read that woman I call my wife. I don't know if she is for me or against me. I can't remember the last time we made love or ate together, let alone sitting down and talking about our lives together.

When did everything go wrong?

Now, she got me a dress, I don't know if I should be happy that she cares about my well-being or if she's scared I'd embarrass her like she thinks I always do. Where did it all go wrong? I asked myself as I packed the plates on top of each other and took them to the kitchen.

***

In the evening, the Harringtons’ ballroom glittered brightly in the dark. It was packed with Chicago’s elites, mostly businessmen in tuxes and women in sparkling dresses.

Claire was right to buy me that dress.

I wanted to take a cup of champagne when Nathan stopped me.

He leaned towards me. “You can't afford a drop of that, can you?” Then he straightened his suit. “You can't, so no champagne for you.” He asked as he ordered the waiter to serve the rest. “You can stick with beer after the gala.”

“Look, the dog’s playing dress-up!” Christopher Harrington, Nathan's brother and another member of the family I can barely recognize. He yelled long enough for heads to turn.

Lila claps, her laugh like a whip as she spots Claire. “Claire, did you polish him up to hide the filth?” The crowd chuckles, and my blood boils. Claire’s by the stage, talking to a young man.

Why does she let them do this?

Nathan grabs a glass from the tray and accidentally tips it, spilling champagne across my chest. As the rest of the cup shattered on the floor.

The wet stain spreads, soaking the suit Claire bought.

The crowd roars, and Lila points, “He’s a walking disaster!” My hands shook as I tightened my grip.

Their laughter cuts deeper than the wine on my shirt. I look at Claire, hoping for a word, a glance.

She walked over and leaned towards me. “Liam, go home. You’re making a scene.”

Scene? I didn't even do anything wrong.

What is this? Is she ashamed? I thought she wanted to save me from this!

“Okay,” I muttered. I walked out as their laughs echoed behind me.

In the cab, my phone buzzes. It’s Sarah.

“Liam, I sent the textbook to your place. It has been marked delivered.” My heart leaps.

“I didn’t get a call,” I say, confused.

“The delivery was signed for. If not, it wouldn't have been delivered,” she replies. “Check when you’re home.”

If she had really delivered it, who signed for it?

Claire and the rest are at the gala, and the staff don’t touch my stuff. So who would have?

Something definitely felt off.

I reach the mansion and I rush to my guest room, expecting the textbook on my bed.

Nothing.

I check the hall, the kitchen. Maybe one of them is kind enough to help me.

Still nothing.

A crackle draws me to the living room.

Vivian’s there, standing by the fireplace as the flames flicker. She didn’t go to the gala.

In her hands, she holds my textbook and another on top of it. Her eyes glinted towards me.

“Liam,” she says. “I know you’re planning to steal Claire’s company. That’s why you stay with her, isn’t it? Pathetic.” She holds up the books. “You ordered these or borrowed them from a friend to learn economics and add it to your already balanced knowledge of the tech world? You think you can run a business?”

Instantly, I became stunned. I didn’t order a second book.

“Those are mine,” I say, stepping forward, but she laughs, tossing both into the fire. The flames surge, swallowing the pages, my seed phrase, the only way to get my $92 billion worth of Bitcoin was burning. “You’ll always be a dog,” she says, smirking as the fire roars.

My knees shook, rage and panic choked me. Immediately, I ran towards the fire and dipped my hands inside as I brought out the books, which were almost half burnt.

I dusted them as the smoke filled my nostrils.

And in my mind, I prayed, hoping nothing would happen to my seed phrases. The only hope that I have left is to make things right.