THE TRASH YOU MOCKED

6

He shook hands with two, nodded to a third, and took a seat where only billionaires belonged.

As Evan calmly took his seat, the event host approached the microphone again, his tone now laced with admiration.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “before we continue, I believe it’s time we clarify the true purpose of tonight’s summit.”

He turned slightly, gesturing toward Evan.

“This year’s East Atlantic Business & Tech Summit was not just a gathering of innovation, but a celebration. A symbolic event, backed by the largest silent investment this summit has ever received.”

The crowd leaned forward.

“Funded entirely by Lancaster Holdings… and personally approved by its new majority shareholder.”

He let the silence simmer, then declared,

“This entire summit was built as an avenue to reintroduce the rightful heir of a trillion-dollar legacy to the world… Mr. Evan Lancaster.”

There was a short pause.

“The OrionTech merger, while impressive on paper, was never the real headline. That deal was orchestrated by Lancaster Holdings’ investment arm specifically to commemorate his return.”

The room erupted.

Applause burst across the ballroom. Journalists stood. Executives clapped. Even Clara’s father who had just arrived late at the back of the room, froze.

Flashbulbs exploded as Evan simply sat there with cold eyes.

The host continued.

“Tonight isn’t about start-ups or tech forecasts. It’s about a name. About the rightful return of a name that shaped our financial history.

And that name… is Lancaster.”

Thunderous applause shook the floor.

"Shit! Shit! shit! This is terrible " Marcus cursed silently.

" Clara? What are we going to do now?” Marcus asked.

But she didn’t hear him.

Unable to bear the truth, her knees buckled and she fainted.

Flat out. In front of everyone.

Gasps filled the room. A few people stood. Phones shot up. Camera fired like gunfire.

“Clara!” Marcus froze in shock. “Clara?!”

Medics stationed at the rear rushed forward into motion. Within seconds, she was surrounded. One of them checked her pulse. Another was already pulling out a small oxygen mask.

“She’s fainted from shock,” one muttered. “Get her to the recovery suite. Let’s move.”

They lifted her gently onto a portable stretcher, moving fast as reporters craned their necks and onlookers whispered furiously.

Marcus stumbled after them. “Wait—I’m with her—I’m her—!”

No one listened.

The doors closed behind them.

Evan didn’t move. Didn’t so much as glance her way.

He remained seated on stage, his legs crossed casually. The applause continued as if nothing had happened.

Because to him?

Nothing had.

The host returned to the mic, momentarily shaken but quickly regaining composure. “Well… I suppose that’s one way to express surprise,” he said dryly, drawing a ripple of polite laughter from the crowd.

He straightened his jacket and turned once again to Evan.

“Mr. Lancaster, shall we proceed with your welcome toast?”

Evan smiled faintly from where he sat, legs crossed and entirely at ease. He didn’t bother to rise. He simply gave the host a subtle go-ahead wave with two fingers.

The host understood instantly.

“Everyone,” he said, beaming now, “let’s enjoy the night!!”

The lights shifted to a golden hue.

Soft jazz began to play from the live orchestra tucked in the corner.

Waiters poured fresh champagne. Platters of gourmet dishes rolled out. A drone camera zipped overhead, capturing the glamor, the elegance, the historical significance of the moment.

People stood. Toasted. Enjoying it all

The show went on, glittering and alive, with Evan Lancaster now at the center of it all.

The next morning, sunlight filtered lazily through the tall glass windows of the Hilton mansion.

The curtains were drawn halfway, poured sunlight across the white sheets where Clara lay still.

Her eyes were open, with her chest rising and falling with uneasy breaths.

She was awake.

But her mind was still replaying last night on a infinite loop.

The summit.

The gasps.

Evan walking in.

The suit. The applause. The announcement.

And then...

Her sudden collapse.

Her body trembled involuntarily as she sat up, clutching the edge of the bed as if the whole room might suddenly spin again.

No. That didn’t happen. There’s no way.

She forced herself to believe.

She scrambled for her phone on the bedstand.

8:42 AM.

Clara unlocked it with shaking fingers and typed his name into the search bar.

"Evan Blake Lancaster"

Enter.

The results hit her like a slap.

> Evan Lancaster Shocks Business World — Revealed as True Heir of Lancaster Holdings

"From obscurity to trillion-dollar throne: Youngest major shareholder in U.S. history stuns business summit attendees…"

"Evan Lancaster — 29-year-old billionaire and controlling heir of Lancaster Holdings makes first public appearance at EA Business & Tech Summit."

Photos accompanied the stories.

With Evan in that suit, face stoic, giving his cold nod of acknowledgment. Him seated beside CEOs. Him shaking hands with foreign diplomats. Him on the cover of Business Pulse Weekly already.

Her breath caught in her throat.

She clicked on another headline:

"From a nobody to Kingmaker — Clara Hilton’s Ex Emerges as Business Royalty"

Her fingers trembled. She nearly dropped the phone.

The comments under that article made her heart cave in:

“Imagine dumping a future billionaire because he was broke for a minute. Couldn’t be me.”

“She fumbled the galaxy for glitter.”

“Clara who?”

“That’s why you don’t play with people’s beginnings.”

Clara's palms grew clammy. Her chest tightened. A wave of disbelief crashed through her.

She swallowed hard and tapped on his official profile. A verified account with millions of followers. His latest post was a simple black screen with four words in gold letters:

" The Lancasters are back "

48 million likes.

The comments were filled with congratulations, power quotes, and fire emojis.

Clara stared, lips trembling.

Just last month, she told him he’d never make it. That he was a nobody. That love doesn’t pay bills.

Now?

He had a private jet, multiple estate homes, a security team, and boardroom power.

And she had... regret.

For the first time in her perfectly crafted life, Clara Hilton felt small.

Irrelevant and pained.