The Goldmaster

008. Truth Revealed

“Well? What's the matter, Bruno?” Lucas’s voice cut like ice, slicing through the hush that had settled.

Bruno opened his mouth, but no words came—only a tense swallow. His posture stiffened, the color draining from his face as he stood in silence.

“I….” he stammered, then chuckled weakly. “Jackie and I—we go way back, of course, but he's, uh… a private man, so….”

But the pause was too long, and the words felt too empty. The eyes around him sharpened, the calculating looks turning skeptical. Whispers began to ignite like brushfire.

“He has to be lying… that was way too vague.”

Even the Jiang noble who'd shaken his hand earlier now retracted it subtly, slipping it behind his back as if it had touched something foul.

“Maybe he never even met Jackie in the first place,” someone muttered.

“This whole story might just be garbage after all.”

Bruno’s pulse roared in his ears. He turned to the crowd, trying to find a friendly face, but the admiration from moments ago had already soured into doubt.

He could feel the tide pulling away from him fast. He was drowning in his own bluff.

Then a soft laugh sliced through the tension like a silk-wrapped dagger.

“Oh, how embarrassing,” came a lilting female voice.

“I knew Bruno liked to embellish, but this?”

All eyes immediately turned.

A statuesque woman in a moonlit silver gown stepped forward—Rebecca Esmeralda, radiant with equal parts elegance and venom. She spared Bruno a brief, pitying glance before turning her eyes on Lucas, locking onto him with sharp, deliberate focus.

“Still,” Rebecca continued, her smile spreading like oil on water,

“At least Bruno doesn't stoop to pretending he's a miracle doctor just to impress a woman.”

The crowd turned again. All attention now funneled toward Lucas, who stood with one hand in his pocket, relaxed as if this were a cocktail party and not a battlefield of reputations.

“Oh, come on, don't look at him like that,” Rebecca said sweetly.

“I heard the reason Pamela dumped him was because he pretended he could treat Mr. Alberto’s condition. Imagine that! Latching onto her like some street healer—what a joke.”

“And yet, here he is,” she said, gesturing dramatically,

“At an event like this. What do you think he's doing here, hmm? Job hunting?” She tilted her head with faux innocence.

“Security guard? Waiter? Oh! Maybe the toilet needs cleaning?”

Laughter broke out almost immediately. Real, cruel laughter.

“Or maybe,” Rebecca added, her voice lowering in mock sympathy,

“He's trying to seduce another rich woman. Can't treat illnesses, can't work, might as well look pretty, right?”

The bait was cast, and the crowd, hungry for fresh prey, pounced.

“What’s your qualification, clown?”

“Still trying to live off a woman’s name and purse?”

Lucas shrugged slowly, then… smiled.

“Are you all done?” he asked pleasantly.

That only seemed to fuel the fire.

“You're not even going to react?” someone jeered.

Lucas’s grin widened, casual and amused.

“React?” He shook his head. “No, this is adorable. I've never been the main act at a puppet show before.”

Gasps and some laughs escaped the crowd.

“You're shameless!” barked a merchant’s son from the back.

“Obviously,” Lucas shot back. “When you look this good, why waste time with shame?”

A few people exchanged surprised glances.

“Gold-digger!” someone else spat. “You're only here for money!”

Lucas raised a brow at the comment, then turned to the individual.

“You got it—I’m here to worship the Goldmaster, the ultimate money master. Not here for the money? Then who else, you?” He grinned.

Rebecca’s face tightened. Her expression was now unreadable.

“You're disgracing men everywhere,” one heir snapped.

Lucas turned slowly. He let his gaze sweep the speaker from head to toe, then looked him in the eyes.

“Maybe. I can't speak for every man's dignity,” he said smoothly, “but I can say yours seems to have fallen somewhere between your legs.”

A collective gasp exploded, followed by shocked silence—then chaos erupted.

“Did he just—? Oh my God! He did not just say that!”

The man he'd insulted took a step forward, his face red with fury, but someone held him back.

Lucas just reached into his jacket, pulled out a gold-trimmed envelope, and held it up between two fingers.

The crowd stared closely at his hands.

“I'm not here for the free drinks,” he said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“This is an invitation to be here, so I'm no ordinary individual either.”

Everyone exchanged doubtful glances at each other at his comment, but no one spoke.

Lucas tucked it back into his jacket with practiced flair, gave the crowd a wink, and turned on his heel.

“Now if you'll excuse me,” he called over his shoulder, “I'd like to go sit somewhere that doesn't reek of desperation.”

He walked off, posture relaxed, hands in his pockets, every step radiating confidence.

Behind him, the silence fractured into stunned whispers.

“Was that really an invite card? That guy… who is he really?”

Rebecca folded her hands into fists by her side as she stood, while Bruno looked like he wanted to melt into the floor.

The heir Lucas had insulted was still frozen in place, one hand inside his pocket and the other folded into a fist as he watched Lucas go.

“He's still a nobody. He’ll soon lose Pamela’s favor anyway.”

“What does it matter? He's still just a gigolo with a lucky ticket.”

“Does he really think he can sit at the same table as us?!”