SUPREME STYLIST: RETURN OF THE HUMILIATED GENIUS

Chapter 0005: $500 billion from Lang

"But why me. Why me?" Rowan asked, voice trembling in confusion.

Madame Joyce smiled. Sharp. Her beauty still looks effortless, disputing her actual age. Thirty five and clocking thirty six soon.

"Because i believe you're worthy, Rowan." She said, confident with her words. "now you have to practically show me that I wasn't wrong about you." She nodded at him. Go ahead and sign the document.

Rowan's mind raced. He glanced at the document again. $500 billion. Half of Joyce Lang's wealth. At the bottom, the space to put his signature stared back. A chance to give the world that humiliated him back their bitter dose.

He grabbed the Aurora diamante pen. The ink bled on the A4 sheet at the first kiss. Rowan's heart raced... this is it. This is what he'd wanted. A chance to show his flair to the world.

Smoothly, he scrawled his signature on the paper.

Madame Joyce took the sheet to access it, nodding her head in satisfaction.

She reached a mini purse fixed to the inner double document holder and pulled out a rectangular card. Black. Plain. No letting could be seen at the front except it's golden chip that caught the ambiance light. At the back, small numbers carved at the bottom.

"Here. This card contains just $100 million dollars," she said, "use it for your upkeep and set up a good place for yourself. Or if you're interested, you can just have one of my places."

Rowan's Jaw nearly hit the pavement. His bottom lips trembled. Tears misted in his eyes... Tears of joy of course.

Rowan wanted to go on his knee, but Madame Joyce pulled him up with a smile.

"That won't be necessary, Rowan," She said, "a man like you mustn't fall below other people's knees. Anymore."

"Thank you, Ma. I just..I mean I'm overwhelmed." She mumbled gratitude.

Joyce simply nodded. "And if you ever need anything, at the back is your personal Assistant's number. He'll always be at your service. He'll sort the company's papers and bring it to you anytime you're comfortable."

The convoy pulled over at the curb.

Rowan didn't open the door. One guard did that for him. The guy who was treated like shit by everyone now during the day now stepped out like a monarch from a car owned by only some limited set people in the world.

"Do have a good night, Rowan."

"And you too, Madame." Rowan then paused halfway, turning to meet her look. "You didn't tell me. What happened to the Royal Stitches two years ago. Why the name suddenly disappeared."

She paused, smiled, then, "Soon, you'll find out yourself," she said simply. "goodnight, Ro."

Rowan stepped back, watching the car door seal the Enigmatic CEO. He stood there at the curb as the convey disappeared into darkness, the taillights sharp against the night.

The night felt heavy around Rowan. Everything felt like a dream, but glancing at the card again, it was an indication that his encounter with the mysterious CEO was real.

Past 10 p.m, Rowan arrived home. He caught his father's beat-up fiat at the side. He paused at the door, bracing up for whatever the night held for him inside the house.

He pushed the door open and walked inside in his Academy uniform to see his family..or rather, the people he assumed to be his family at the dining room.

His father, Mr. Bennet and his step mother, the devil incarnate, Margaret. One person was absent. His step brother, Jack.

The soft clattering of cutleries against ceramics stretched to Rowan's hearing the moment he stepped in.

"Good evening, Dad. Joyce." He greeted casually, moving across like someone who had a better purpose waiting for him in his room, but his father's voice stopped him. The cutlery sound diminished too.

The man glanced at the wall clock, his expression tight. "Where are you coming from by this time? And how many times will I tell you not to call my wife by her name. She's your mother now."

Rowan looked at the man he called his father, who had been treating him worse than an outcast after he married Joyce.

"Stepmother." Rowan corrected. He isn't interested in any of the yapping tonight, so he continued walking.

Margaret set down her cutlery and slammed her palm on the desk. "How dare you speak to your father like that!?" She growled, artificial lashes batting at Rowan.

Rowan stepped back one step, his expression firm. Indifferent. In the past, he would have crumbled, muttering apology, but he stood tall, holding the witch's gaze.

"How dare me?" Rowan chuckled in amusement. "the last time I checked, you're the woman who squeezed yourself into a space that was never meant for you so you don't get to sit down there and speak like I'm your son."

Silence. Stunned silence.

Margaret's eyes widened, her manicured finger tightened, digging crescent into her palm.

"Have you gone nuts, Rowan?" Mr. Bennett sparked. "You just spoke to my wife like that?"

Then he started the usual sermon, angrily. "Jack is never this uncultured. That is what an actual son looks like. Soon, he'll graduate from the University and get his Doctor's degree. He's going places. And maybe it's time you consider going for a professional course rather than...that thing you called talent."

Margaret smirked faintly.

She leaned in, speaking with an exaggerated interest. All false.

"Your father is right, Rowan," she said smoothly, but behind those lashes Rowan could see venom. "Talents these days doesn't work out. Connections and real jobs actually do. Two years. You've been in that place, stitching outcuts. It's time you really make a good decision with your life, Ro."

Rowan could smell the insult, but he didn't retaliate. Before today, he would have started explaining, telling them the only thing he wanted was to be a fashion designer. That he can succeed without being a doctor or an engineer..or whatever they're forcing him to buy. But not tonight.

"I hear you." He simply said, leaving the room while the couples exchanged stunned glances.

Mr. Bennett let out a tiring sigh. "I wish he could just see we wished him the best."

Margaret held his shoulder, her expression softer, yet less of a witch.

"He'll listen, Honey." She said, still angry and bittered by Rowan's retaliation.

Rowan smirked, catching the conversation behind him.

"No, I'm done listening," he said in his thoughts. "you all listen now."