The Legendary Martin Garvey

Chapter 8

“Please enjoy, sir, ma’am.”

A waiter placed a small plate in front of Ethan and Quinn. On it sat delicate cream-layered canapés that looked as if they would melt at the slightest touch.

“And this is yours.”

When he placed the small plate before Martin, the difference was unmistakable.

Instead of an exquisite pastry whose mere aroma could awaken one’s appetite, Martin received nothing more than coarse, bland whole wheat bread.

“Sir, ma’am, I’m sure you’ll be curious about this,” the waiter continued with a wide smile, lifting a bottle gracefully.

“Though it’s not as famous as Moscato d'Asti, its taste is far more seductive. I’m certain you’ll love it.”

He poured the wine into Ethan and Quinn’s glasses.

“Please,” he said warmly.

When his gaze flickered toward Martin, however, his expression soured slightly—and he walked past him without pouring a drop.

“My goodness! This is incredible!”

Ethan shook his head, eyes half-closing as he savored the drink.

“No wonder it’s far more expensive than Moscato. Miss Hayes, what do you think? It’s delightful, isn’t it?”

Quinn gave a small nod, pretending to bring the glass to her lips.

For some reason, it didn’t sit right with her that only she and Ethan were served the welcome drink while her husband was deliberately excluded.

“Perfect!” Ethan’s smile widened. “I’ve ordered the full-course menu tonight. I’m sure it suits your refined taste.”

When he said refined taste, the corner of his eye shifted toward Martin—an unmistakable jab.

A woman with refined taste did not belong to a lowly man like Martin.

She belonged with someone like him.

“Ma’am, sir, apologies for the wait. This is our restaurant’s signature dish—the legendary Northern Irish sirloin.”

The waiter presented the steak. Even the aroma of its rising steam was enough to convince anyone that its flavor would be unparalleled.

“I dare say you won’t find this anywhere else.”

The texture was firmer than wagyu, yet its aroma was richer and more robust. Northern Ireland often supplied cuts like this to the British royal family—hence in the UK, it was sometimes referred to as a royal steak.

“And if you’re wondering whether it tastes as exquisite as what is served at royal banquets, I assure you, you won’t be disappointed. We have a private arrangement with a local ranch that exports a limited quantity to us. Here, you’re enjoying the same delicacy.”

Even without further explanation, Ethan felt his stomach respond instantly. Unable to wait, he cut off a piece and popped it into his mouth.

Chew. Chew.

Gulp.

“Oh my God… this is insane! I’ve never tasted beef of this caliber!”

He sliced into it again enthusiastically, letting the juices glisten visibly before chewing with exaggerated pleasure—as if deliberately showing Martin what he was missing.

But when he noticed Quinn sitting silently, he paused.

“Miss Hayes? What is it? Don’t tell me you don’t like it? Trust me, it’s extraordinary.”

“I-it’s fine.”

Quinn nodded awkwardly.

How could she not feel uncomfortable?

In front of Martin, once again, there was nothing but dry wheat bread on his plate.

Meanwhile, before her and Ethan were not only the legendary steak, but African mushroom soup and several other premium dishes arranged neatly in elegant bowls and plates.

“Go on, try it. I guarantee it’s delicious.”

Ethan even cut a piece of sirloin from his own plate and lifted it toward Quinn’s mouth.

“Thank you. I’ll try mine.”

Turning her head away, Quinn quickly picked up her own knife and fork.

In a restaurant of this caliber, refusing someone’s gesture outright would appear rude—unless she was eating her own serving.

Because of the rectangular table arrangement, Martin and Quinn were seated at opposite ends.

However, with Ethan seated beside Quinn—closer to her—it gave the illusion that the two of them were hosting Martin at their table.

And just as Quinn sliced into her steak, comments from the neighboring table drifted over.

“Look at that. Such a beautiful wife, yet he ruins the evening by inviting his male servant to dine with them. What a pity. That gentleman must be incredibly generous.”

A young woman in an elegant black gown gazed admiringly at Ethan and Quinn before her expression turned disdainful when she looked at Martin.

“Huh. I can’t tell if he’s generous or just stupid. If it were me, I’d have kicked that ugly man out,” her male companion sneered, eyeing Martin with disgust as he calmly chewed his bread. “Disgusting.”

It wasn’t just one table.

From another came similar whispers.

“I simply don’t understand how a servant could be so shameless. I’m sure his employer is too kind to have brought him here. But he should have known better than to accept. Absolutely no self-awareness.”

A middle-aged woman cast a scornful glance toward Martin.

How could a servant feel no shame dining at the same table as his master in a place this expensive?

Unforgivable.

“Our servants would never sit at the same table as us. They would eat on the floor if they had to.”

Quinn’s face burned red. Cold sweat dampened her forehead.

In high society, image was everything.

Looking foolish or disgraceful in public was a grave sin—one to be avoided at all costs.

“Martin…”

She whispered softly, lowering her head slightly.

She felt she couldn’t endure this any longer.

She wanted to leave.

“Martin…”

She called again, but he remained focused on his bread.

“Miss Hayes, why waste your energy on him?”

Ethan interrupted, dabbing the corner of his lips with a silk napkin in an elegant motion. Yet his eyes gleamed with sharp contempt as they flicked toward Martin.

“Look at him. The man seems perfectly content with that inferior food. That alone says everything.”

“There are people born to breathe the air at the summit… and those destined to remain below, scavenging crumbs. He doesn’t feel humiliated because he has no pride to begin with. He isn’t on the same level as you—nor even the waiters here. Just ignore him… and enjoy your dinner.”