Chapter 8: Revelations and Retribution
Vivian’s heart sank as the weight of her actions hit her. It turned out that everything Helen had said was true. She had humiliated the wrong people, and now the consequences were staring her in the face. Her legs gave way, and she collapsed to her knees in front of Dylan and Helen. Cold sweat dripped from her forehead, and her hands trembled as she clasped them together in desperation. "Please, Helen... Young Master Dylan..." Vivian’s voice cracked, and tears streamed down her face. "I was wrong. I didn’t mean it! I didn’t know who you were! Please, forgive me. I’ll do anything to make this right!" Helen stood tall beside Dylan, her sharp gaze pinned on Vivian. Her voice was cold, yet steady, as she spoke. "You didn’t mean it? Was it ignorance or arrogance, Vivian? You didn’t bother verifying who we were before treating us like dirt. And now you’re groveling? Do you think that excuses what you’ve done?" Vivian’s sobs grew louder, and she crawled closer, reaching for Helen’s hand. "I was blinded by my assumptions! I swear it won’t happen again. Please, Helen, Dylan, give me another chance!" Dylan’s eyes remained calm but distant, his hands in his pockets as he looked down at the groveling woman. Before she could continue begging, John Nelson’s booming voice cut through the room. "Enough." The authority in his tone silenced everyone. John’s expression was as cold as steel as he glared at Vivian. "You’ve disgraced the Nelson family name and tarnished the reputation of the Royal Elysian Hotel. Do you think begging for mercy will undo the humiliation you’ve caused my granddaughter and the Young Master of the family?" Vivian shook her head desperately, her tears now soaking her face. "No, Mr. Nelson! Please, I was wrong. I’ll do anything, even if you want me to resign." "You don’t need to resign," John interrupted icily. "You’re fired." A strangled gasp escaped Vivian’s throat. "Fired?" she echoed, disbelief flashing across her face. "Mr. Nelson, please! I’ve dedicated years to this place!" John’s sharp gaze didn’t falter. He turned to the security guards standing nearby. "Escort her out of the premises. I don’t want to see her face in this hotel ever again." The guards hesitated for a moment, but John’s authoritative stance left no room for argument. They moved swiftly, grabbing Vivian by her arms and dragging her toward the exit. She screamed and begged all the way out, her voice fading as the murmurs of the crowd grew louder. --- **In the Grand Lobby** John turned to face Dylan and Helen, his expression softening as guilt flickered in his eyes. "Young Master Dylan, I deeply apologize for this disgraceful incident. As the chairman, this was my responsibility, and I failed to ensure the dignity of our guests. Please, allow me to personally invite you to the Supreme Banquet Hall to make amends." Dylan gave a small nod, his expression unreadable. "Let’s not dwell on it, Mr. Nelson. Lead the way." As they entered the elevator, whispers followed them. "The Supreme Banquet Hall?" one guest murmured. "That’s reserved for VIPs!" "Who is that guy? Mr. Nelson called him the Young Master!" "Could he be from the Nelson family?" --- **At the Supreme Banquet Hall** The room was a breathtaking sight. Crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead, and the golden décor shimmered in the soft light. The aroma of fine wine and gourmet dishes filled the air. John personally pulled out a chair for Dylan at the head table. "Please, sit, Young Master Dylan," he said respectfully. Once they were seated, John leaned forward, his tone sincere. "Young Master Dylan, I cannot express how ashamed I am. This was an unforgivable oversight. I assure you, it will never happen again." Dylan’s expression remained calm. "Mr. Nelson, this wasn’t entirely your fault." He glanced at Helen briefly before continuing. "Jane had a hand in this. She orchestrated it deliberately to create trouble for us." John’s face darkened at the mention of Jane. A flash of alarm crossed his features as he suddenly remembered something. "The cooperation agreement with her company!" he muttered, standing abruptly. "I haven’t canceled it yet!" He quickly pulled out his phone and called the manager in charge of the deal. His tone was sharp and urgent. "Cancel the cooperation with Jane’s company immediately. Do you hear me? IMMEDIATELY!” There was a brief silence on the other end of the line before John’s expression turned grim. "What? The manager has already left to sign the contract? Get me his number, now!" --- **Meanwhile, in Another ordinary Banquet Hall** In a smaller, yet elegant banquet hall, Jane and Bobby were entertaining a middle-aged man with a slick smile. The man was the manager of the Nelson family’s business division, and he was there to finalize the cooperation agreement with Jane’s company. The room was filled with Jane’s carefully invited guests—business associates, potential investors, and socialites. Jane had planned this moment meticulously, ensuring that everyone would witness her "success" in securing a deal with the Nelson family. The manager raised his glass in a toast, his tone flattering. "Ms. Jane, I must say, you’re very fortunate to have such a reliable partner. It’s clear someone powerful is helping you behind the scenes to secure this deal." Jane raised her glass with a practiced smile, her eyes filled with gratitude as she looked at Bobby. “I couldn’t have done this without you, Bobby. Truly.” Bobby smirked, leaning back in his chair as if the whole affair was beneath him. “You give me too much credit, Jane. It was just a few phone calls.” The manager, seated across from them, looked mildly amused but suddenly furrowed his brows. “Ms. Jane,” he asked, his tone light but curious, “Isn’t your husband here? I expected to see him at such an important occasion.” Jane’s smile faltered, and an awkward silence fell over the table. Her grip on her wine glass tightened as she scrambled for an answer. “Ah… my husband…” she began, her voice tinged with forced nonchalance. “He’s just an ordinary man, you see. He doesn’t feel comfortable in high-profile settings like this. So Bobby offered to accompany me today.” The manager raised an eyebrow, his curiosity growing. He turned his gaze toward Bobby, studying him with a hint of skepticism. “Bobby, was it?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. “Forgive me, but I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before. Your family… I don’t recall them having connections with the Nelson family.” Bobby’s confident expression wavered for a split second before he recovered. “Oh, well, we don’t flaunt our connections,” he said smoothly, brushing off the remark. “I prefer to keep things discreet.” The manager’s eyes narrowed slightly, but before he could press further, his phone buzzed loudly on the table. He glanced at the screen, and his expression shifted immediately to one of alarm. It was Mr. Nelson calling. “Excuse me for a moment,” he muttered, standing abruptly and walking a few steps away to answer the call. “Hello, Sir” his voice was low but urgent. After hearing what Mr. Nelson said, his expression changed abruptly, and he quickly left the banquet hall.
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he silence stretched, heavy and suffocating, until the sharp click of heels broke it. Every head turned. A woman in a sleek black dress stepped out from the shadows near the bar, her presence commanding in a way that made even Dylan’s exit feel incomplete.Her crimson lips curved into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.“Well,” she said, voice smooth as silk yet barbed with venom, “that was… entertaining.”The bartender stiffened. “Madam…” he stammered, his throat suddenly dry.She ignored him, her gaze settling on the man still crumpled on the floor. She tilted her head, studying him like one might examine a broken tool.“You’ve embarrassed us tonight,” she murmured. “I warned you to keep your vices hidden. But now…” Her smile sharpened. “…now the wrong man knows.”Gasps rippled through the room. Wrong man?The broken man whimpered, his voice cracking. “P-please… I didn’t mean—”Her hand shot up, silencing him instantly. She didn’t raise her voice, but the weight of her authority was
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The third slap landed with a sickening snap, echoing across the room like a warning bell. The man’s knees buckled entirely this time, and he crumpled forward, his forehead hitting the polished floor with a soft thud. A trickle of blood ran freely now from the split corner of his lip, mixing with the sweat beading on his temples. He gasped, shivering violently, completely undone.Dylan didn’t pause. He stood over him, tall and unwavering, the shadow of authority pressing down on everyone present. His voice, low and deliberate, cut through the murmurs like a blade.“You had your chance,” Dylan said, pacing slowly around the man as if circling prey. “Your lies. Your cruelty. Your arrogance. And yet you thought you could hide behind the faces of others. But masks always slip, don’t they?”The man tried to raise his head, to plead again, but Dylan’s gaze alone held him frozen. His arms hung limp at his sides, as if the will to resist had been crushed entirely.“You hurt someone who had no
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The man by the pillar swallowed hard, his throat bobbing visibly as if every word he wanted to force out turned to stone in his mouth. His pride clashed with his fear. His fingers clenched against his thighs, nails biting into his skin.“I…” he croaked, voice breaking. “I’m sorry.”The bartender stiffened, blinking rapidly. His lips parted, but no sound came out. It was almost too surreal.Dylan’s eyes narrowed. He raised his chin slightly, the movement deceptively lazy but steeped in authority. “Too soft. Say it again. With your chest. Let them all hear who you bow to when your mask cracks.”The man’s face burned red. A muscle in his jaw ticked furiously, but when Dylan tilted his head in that sharp, mocking way again, he caved.“I’M SORRY!” he shouted, the words tumbling out raw and ugly. His voice carried across the room, echoing off the walls. “I was wrong. I mocked without knowing. I–I shouldn’t have said it!”The bartender flinched, looking down at the counter, shame and discomf
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The room froze. The bow was not deep, but it was sharp, precise, and undeniable.The same people who had been laughing seconds ago now stared in stunned silence. The sound of a glass being set down too hard at the bar echoed like a gunshot.The man near the pillar shifted his weight, his face draining of color. “W–wait,” he stammered, his earlier confidence cracking. “You… you can’t be serious. He’s just—”“Enough,” the manager cut him off without even glancing his way. His voice carried the weight of authority, calm but absolute. “Mr. Grenville is not to be questioned.”The young bartender, who had whispered earlier, felt his throat close. His hands shook as he tried to polish a glass, but the cloth slipped from his fingers. He dared not meet Dylan’s eyes.Dylan finally slid his phone back into his pocket, his smirk widening just slightly. He didn’t look at the crowd, only at the man still bent before him. “Good,” he said quietly, as if the single word settled everything.The manager
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The tension in the room had barely begun to settle when a new layer of mockery surfaced.A man in a dark blazer, arms crossed, leaned forward slightly, his voice dripping with disdain. “Oh, look at him,” he said with a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “Grenville this, Grenville that. If you’re so important, why don’t you prove it? Or is this just all smoke and mirrors?”A few others around him chuckled, emboldened by his words.Dylan’s eyes flicked toward him lazily, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a smirk that was all predator. “Smoke and mirrors, you say?” His voice was soft, slow, deliberate. “Funny. I’ve never met a man so confident in his ignorance.”A young bartender, who had been trying to remain unnoticed by the drama, finally whispered under his breath, “Yeah, big talk for someone who just walks in and stares at us like he owns the place.”Dylan’s head snapped toward him, sharper than anyone could have expected. “Walks in? I glide in,” he corrected, his tone slic
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The words hit the lobby like a dropped glass. Conversations stuttered, laughter faltered, and even the clink of glasses from the bar seemed to still.The older receptionist blinked, her lips parting as if she wanted to retort but couldn’t find the words. Dylan’s gaze stayed on her, sharp and unwavering.“Tell me,” Dylan drawled, straightening and letting his hands rest lightly on the counter, “do you really believe a clipboard and a checklist give you more power than me? That a pen stroke decides who belongs here?” He let out a quiet chuckle, slow and mocking. “Adorable.”The tall man near the pillar scoffed, pushing off it with his shoulder. “Big words for someone who can’t even walk in without stuttering at reception.”Dylan’s head turned lazily toward him, eyes narrowing with the faintest glimmer of amusement. “Stuttering?” His smirk deepened. “You must be mistaking me for yourself, since the only thing I’ve heard from your mouth so far is the nervous laugh of a man desperate to be
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