THE EXILED KING

THE COLD REALITY

Hilda slowly shook her head.

Her expression was sharp. Cold. Unforgiving.

Freda and Clarissa saw it… and shook their heads in similar fashion.

Their faces showed it all—they didn’t buy Nolan’s show. Not one bit.

Evelyn saw their reactions.

She turned back to Nolan with a strange look in her eyes. She stood up to her feet, brushed her gown lightly, and gave him a slow shake of the head.

“No, Nolan,” she said coldly. “Not here. Not like this.”

She walked past him.

The music faded. The dancers paused. Even the jazz band started playing more slowly, unsure of what to do.

Nolan gently grabbed her hand. His voice broke as he spoke.

“Evelyn, please,” he said. “I didn’t plan all this just for attention or drama. I meant every single word. I’m not ashamed of you, and I’m not ashamed to show how much I love you. That’s all I wanted. That’s why I came here tonight. That's why I arranged for all this.”

Evelyn turned to him slowly.

She looked into his eyes. There was real pain in his eyes.

Her eyes dropped to the cake he was still holding.

She reached out and collected it carefully.

She looked at the pink and white cream… the neat writing on top: PLEASE FORGIVE ME.

“Hmmm…” she hummed. “Nice cake.”

Nolan’s heart lifted for a second.

But only for a second.

Because the next moment… SPLAT!!!

Evelyn smashed the cake into his face.

Cream flew everywhere—on his hair, on his shirt, on his lips, even on his ears.

The restaurant gasped.

People’s mouths opened wide in shock. One waiter dropped a glass. Someone shouted, “Oh my God!”

Nolan stood frozen.

Cake spattered all over his face, slowly sliding down.

He looked like a clown at a children’s party—but without the smile.

Evelyn wiped her hands with a napkin.

“Come on girls,” she said with her chin raised. “Let’s get out of here.”

Hilda let out a small laugh. Clarissa followed, But Freda laughed the loudest.

“Goodbye, Lover boy,” Freda said mockingly, blowing a fake kiss in the air.

The three women walked out, their heels clicking proudly on the marble floor.

Nolan just stood there.

Still frozen.

Still covered in cake.

People whispered. Some laughed. Some felt sorry for him.

He could feel every eye in the room staring at him. Some were recording. Some were smiling in pity.

But inside Nolan… it felt like something had shattered.

His chest felt tight.

His eyes burned.

His legs felt heavy like stone, but he didn’t move.

He didn’t speak.

All he could feel… was shame.

Big. Loud. Deep shame.

And maybe… a little bit of regret.

Nolan was still standing in the middle of the restaurant—feeling alone, humiliated, and silent.

His face dripped with pink and white cream.

His lips were trembling. His hands had gone limp by his side.

Then slowly, the soft sound of careful footsteps approached him.

It was the head of the jazz band—a slim, polite-looking man with round glasses and a neat black bowtie. His violin hung gently from his shoulder.

Behind him, the two ballet dancers came forward as well, their white attires were still glowing under the restaurant lights.

“Sir,” the band leader said in a quiet voice. “We are… very sorry about what just happened.”

Nolan didn’t answer. He only blinked.

The man gave a sad nod.

“We didn’t expect that kind of reaction,” he continued. “We thought it would be a romantic performance. Something joyful.”

The dancers nodded softly, their faces were full of sympathy.

Then came the part Nolan was afraid of.

The violinist looked away for a moment, then reached into his suit and pulled out a folded piece of paper—a receipt.

With a low, almost embarrassed voice, he said, “Uhm… here’s the balance. For the band… and the dancers. We gave you a discount, like you asked.”

He held out the paper carefully, trying not to make it look awkward.

Nolan stared at it. He didn’t take it yet. He couldn’t move. His pride was already in pieces—paying for this failure felt like placing a crown on his own humiliation.

But he had no choice.

Slowly, he took the paper from the man’s hand.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice shaking.

The band leader gave a short nod, then quietly turned and walked away. The dancers followed him.

Nolan looked down at the bill in his hand.

His eyes were cloudy.

He wiped some of the cream from his eyelid and looked at his reflection in the shiny surface of the piano nearby.

He didn’t recognize himself.

Covered in cake… standing alone… watched by strangers… laughed at by woman he once loved.

And then…

A question slowly formed in his heart.

A question that cut deeper than the embarrassment.

What did I do to deserve this?

What crime had he committed?

Was love a sin?

Was showing emotions now a weakness?

Why did it always end like this—for him?

Why did it always feel like the universe was playing a cruel joke on him?