The Lost God Heir

Lick My Boots

The moment Lena’s voice rang out in the ballroom, every conversation died at once. Dozens of heads turned in the same direction, following her gaze. The soft music from the speakers felt suddenly out of place as silence swallowed the room.

Ethan stood at the edge of the hall, half in shadow, half under the bright chandelier lights. He hadn’t taken another step forward since Lena called his name. For a brief second, it felt as though time itself paused.

Then whispers broke out.

“Who is that?”

“Isn’t he from Damien's company?”

“That’s the one that got fired, right?”

The murmurs spread like ripples through water, low at first, then louder. People leaned closer, eyes filled with curiosity and judgment. No one saw fear on Ethan’s face, but they saw hesitation, and that was enough.

Damien finally stepped out from the center of the crowd with a smug smile on his lips. A glass of champagne rested loosely in his hand, his posture relaxed like a king approaching a prisoner. Every movement he made carried confidence and mockery.

“So,” Damien drawled, his voice cutting clearly through the hall, “you really crawled all the way here.”

He slowly looked Ethan up and down in an exaggerated way, from his worn shoes to his plain suit. His smile widened as if he had just confirmed something disgusting.

“Tell me,” he continued, raising his voice slightly, “did you walk here? Or did you beg someone for bus fare?”

Laughter rolled through the room.

Ethan felt every sound strike his chest like a hammer, but he didn’t react. His hands tightened slightly at his sides, yet his back stayed straight.

Damien turned to the guests with an exaggerated sigh. “This man used to work under me,” he announced. “An assistant. That was his highest point in life.”

His eyes sharpened as he looked back at Ethan. “Then he became useless.” 

"And even that highest rank was attained because of me. Under my shadow and my company!"

More laughter exploded.

Some of the guests whispered openly now, pointing in Ethan’s direction. A few lifted their phones casually, pressing record without even trying to hide it.

Lena stepped forward at Crowley’s side, her heels tapping sharply against the marble floor. She crossed her arms and stared at Ethan as if he were something she had already thrown away.

“I warned you,” she said coldly. “I told you not to dream above your station.”

Her words were smooth, practiced, and cruel. “You can barely survive now. You worked yourself to death just to eat, and still you followed us all the way to a five-star hotel.”

She let out a short, mocking laugh. “Did you think you belonged here again?”

The crowd reacted instantly. Pity mixed with disgust. Some shook their heads, some smirked. Others leaned in, hungry for drama.

“He pays my rent with delivery money,” she added casually. “Night shifts. Rain, heat, exhaustion. All for nothing.”

That sentence cut deeper than any insult.

Ethan’s jaw tightened, but he remained silent.

Some of Ethan's previous colleagues that were around stepped in from different sides, sealing the open space around him. Their movements were slow and deliberate, like predators closing in.

One of them sneered. “You used to drink with us. Now you don’t even qualify to stand near us.”

Another glanced at the floor beneath Ethan’s feet. “You’re standing on marble worth more than your whole life.”

A napkin suddenly fluttered down and landed right in front of Ethan’s shoes.

“Pick it up,” someone said with a laugh.

Ethan didn’t move.

Damien clicked his tongue softly, disappointment clear on his face. He raised his glass again and spoke loudly, making sure everyone heard him.

“Tonight,” he declared, “the Cole-linked VIPs are holding a meeting in this very hotel.”

The room buzzed instantly even though they had already heard those words. People straightened. Excitement flickered across several faces.

Damien continued proudly, “My internal connections tipped me off. If things go right, I’ll finally be seen by real power tonight.” He said the words almost inside Ethan's ear drums.

He stepped closer to Ethan, lowering his voice just enough to feel personal. “People like you will never even smell that world again.”

For the first time, Ethan felt a ripple of something rise in his chest. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t anger. It was a calm, heavy weight that settled deep inside him.

Damien tilted his head. “So why don't you tell everyone,” he said suddenly. “Why are you really here?”

All eyes locked onto Ethan.

Even the waiters paused mid-step. The air felt thick. Phones lifted higher, lenses aimed directly at his face.

Ethan hesitated for only a moment.

“I’m here for a meeting,” he said calmly.

For a split second, the room went silent.

Then laughter exploded.

Damien bent slightly forward as if laughing hurt his stomach. “A meeting?” he repeated between laughs. “With who? The cleaners?”

Someone shouted, “Maybe the dishwashers called him!”

More laughter erupted. Some guests clapped sarcastically.

Damien straightened and snapped his fingers.

At that exact moment, a waiter walked past holding a tray of desserts. Without warning, Damien reached out and took one of the ice creams from the tray.

He looked at it with fake care, then “accidentally” tilted his hand.

The ice cream slid off and splashed directly onto his expensive leather shoe.

“Oh no,” Damien said slowly, staring at the melting mess. His lips curved into a wicked smile as he lifted his foot slightly.

Then he looked at Ethan.

“Since you like working so much,” he said softly, “help me clean it.”

The room fell quiet again.

Damien’s eyes darkened. “Don’t wipe it.”

He looked around at the crowd and said loudly, “Lick it.”

Gasps tore through the room, followed instantly by laughter.

“Do it!” someone shouted.

“Let us see how dogs work!” another voice followed.

Cameras zoomed in.

Ethan didn’t move. His breathing slow, his eyes fixed on the melting ice cream inching down the shoe.

Damien turned sharply and clapped his hands once. “Manager.”

The hotel manager rushed over immediately, sweat visible on his forehead. He bowed slightly, clearly nervous.

Damien pointed straight at Ethan. “Make him do it.”

The manager hesitated. His eyes flicked to Ethan’s face, then away, as if something about him felt wrong. But before he could speak, Damien leaned closer and smiled.

“Or should I start calling your investors?”

The manager’s face paled.

He turned and gave a subtle signal.

Two guards stepped forward.

One grabbed Ethan’s arm. The other moved behind him, cutting off his retreat. The pressure on his shoulder tightened as they tried to force him down.

Laughter swelled through the hall like a wave.

From within the crowd, a few familiar faces appeared—his former colleagues, people who once laughed with him in the office, now standing far away with folded arms and eager eyes, waiting to watch him break.

Ethan’s knees bent under the pressure.

Slowly, unwillingly, he was forced lower.

Damien lifted his shoe and placed it directly in front of Ethan’s face. The ice cream kept dripping, sticky and cold against the polished leather.

Phones shook with excitement.

The crowd held its breath.