The Goldmaster

013: Banquette

The grand ballroom of the Imperial Heights Hotel shimmered under crystal chandeliers. Gilded columns framed the space, and soft music floated through the air, barely masking the buzz of anticipation.

The city’s elite filled the hall—politicians, CEOs, legacy families—all gathered to honor Mr Alberto Bellingham, the ailing business magnate whose name still made boardrooms tremble.

At the center of the room, a hush settled as Almonde Black stepped forward. Dressed in a jet-black tuxedo that hugged his frame a little too deliberately, he moved with the self-assurance of someone used to applause. In his hands: a lacquered rosewood box.

He placed it gently before Mr Alberto and opened it with a dramatic flick.

Inside, nestled in silk, lay a thousand-year-old ginseng—its roots twisted like aged fingers, its scent earthy and sharp even from a distance.

Almonde bowed slightly. “A small token of admiration,” he said, voice smooth as oil. “This ginseng is the rarest in our collection. A tonic said to fortify the lungs and heart. For someone as revered as you, only the best.”

A ripple of impressed murmurs spread like ripples in still

Alberto’s eyes narrowed—not unkindly. He studied the ginseng, then gave the barest nod. “Rare indeed.”

Before the silence could settle too long, Almode’s mother stepped forward, her pearl necklace gleaming under the lights. She linked arms with her husband, and together they offered a carefully measured smile.

“Our son has always admired your daughter,” she said, projecting warmth with surgical precision.

“We’ve long believed they’d make an excellent match. Their values… their families… it's so aligned.”

Pamela’s mother—never one to miss a signal—leaned in.

“Absolutely. We’d be thrilled, truly. It’s so rare to see young people so well suited.”

Her eyes sparkled as she glanced between the young man and her daughter’s empty seat. “He’s refined. Accomplished. Everything a girl could hope for.”

Mr Jerry father remained silent. So did Mr Alberto, whose gaze drifted toward the doors.

Right on cue, they opened and every head turned.

Pamela entered, arm in arm with someone who had no business being in that room. Her emerald-green gown clung to her frame with quiet elegance, but it was the man beside her who disrupted the balance.

He wore no silk, no watch encrusted with diamonds. Just a fitted charcoal suit, clean and sharp—but unbranded, and understated.

In his hands, he carried a bottle wrapped in brown paper and twine.

Almonde’s smile faltered, but only briefly. He recovered with a scoff.

“Interesting choice of company,” he said under his breath.

Lucas walked with Pamela straight to Mr Alberto’s table with a steady gaze and both hands offering the wrapped bottle.

“A small gift,” MC said, voice quiet but firm.

“Medicinal wine, brewed with rare ingredients. Congratulations, sir.”

A silence bloomed, heavy and disbelieving.

Almonde let out a laugh—sharp and theatrical. “Wine?” he repeated, turning slightly so the crowd could see the incredulous smirk on his face.

“He brought medical alcohol? To a banquet?”

A few guests chuckled behind their champagne glasses. One even muttered, “Bold move…”

Alberto reached for the bottle and unwrapped it slowly. He held it up to the light.

The liquid inside was deep amber, with slow, heavy swirls that moved like syrup.

Almonde leaned in, voice laced with disdain.

“It’s cheap wine at best. Probably some back-alley tonic.”

But Alberto uncorked it without a word. Poured in a small amount into a crystal cup and drank.

The hush that fell wasn’t polite—it was stunned.

Everyone watched in surprise

His color deepened—his pallor softening into a healthier shade. His shoulders straightened. He blinked his eyes multiple times, as if the fog behind his eyes had cleared.

He looked down at the cup, then at MC.

“Is this… Yanhuang Wine?” he asked, his voice lower now.

Lucas gave a quiet nod,

“Yes, indeed it is”

More gasps. A few guests even stood.

“Impossible,” someone muttered.

Alberto turned toward the crowd, raising the bottle slightly.

“For those unfamiliar with the wine,” he said, “Yanhuang Wine is a legendary formula—brewed from rare beasts of land, sea, and sky. The recipe was thought to have been lost centuries ago.”

Almonde’s smile had left his face after Mr Alberto’s words

Mr Alberto continued,

“It strengthens the blood, revives marrow, and extends the vitality of the body. A single cup is said to prolong life by half a decade.”

The room exploded with murmurs.

Lucas stood still, saying nothing.

Then Mr Alberto did the unthinkable—he stood, stepped around the table… and made to his kneel.

Everyone released shocked gasps as they watched his reaction.

Lucas reached out instinctively, steadying him.

“Sir, please.”

Mr Alberto paused mid-motion, grasped Lucas’s wrist instead, and held on. His voice cracked.

“This… is not just a gift, you've given me more time. Time I thought I’d lost.”

Lucas smiled at his words,

“it's an honour sir”

Pamela’s mother stared, stunned, lips slightly parted. The man she’d just dismissed now looked like a walking miracle.

Pamela didn’t speak, but her expression said enough. The hint of a smile and the pride in her gaze.

Almonde clenched his jaw.

He stepped forward, tone sharp.

“How did you even get that wine? A rare tonic like that… someone like you couldn’t possibly afford it.”

Some guests murmured in agreement.

Almonde pushed.

“Unless… you stole it.”

He meant it as a kill shot. A last-ditch play to drag Lucas down.

Then came the voice, low and cold.

“Enough.”

Mr Alberto shot him a glare.