The Poor Student Turns Out To Be A Second Generation Heir!

Chapter 8: Kneel Down And Beg For Mercy

Chapter 8: Kneel Down And Beg For Mercy

Before the manager could even open her mouth, Dylan suddenly raised his hand and slapped Karen hard across the face. His expression twisted with rage as he roared, "Stupid woman! How dare you scold Mr. Lawrence or the manager? Do you have a death wish? Get lost!"

Karen covered her cheek in shock, her eyes wide, unable to believe Dylan had struck her in public.

But Dylan ignored her. Turning toward Lawrence, his tone instantly shifted, fawning and obsequious. "Mr. Lawrence, I was blind earlier. Please, be magnanimous and don’t hold it against me."

Lawrence looked at Dylan groveling in front of him. A flicker of surprise crossed his face, followed by a deeper, rueful emotion. Back when I was broke and working part-time, I was always the one lowering my head, apologizing to others. Now the tables have turned—because of money, they’re the ones bowing to me.

His silence and hesitation only made Dylan panic further. Interpreting it as dissatisfaction, Dylan immediately dropped to his knees with a loud thud. His face twisted with fear as he begged, "Mr. Lawrence, Master Su, I truly never meant to offend you both. It was all Karen’s fault—she instigated everything! Please, don’t take this out on the Xu family. I beg you!"

He was desperate now. If Lawrence’s wrath fell on them, even the combined strength of a hundred Xu families wouldn’t be enough to withstand it.

Karen, still stunned from the slap, wanted to lash out. But when she saw Dylan kneeling in front of Lawrence like a broken dog, her blood ran cold as her hands trembled as she covered her cheek. The Xu family may not be much in Light City, but they’re still leagues above ordinary families. And now Dylan is kneeling, begging for forgiveness from this man… all because of that card?

Her mind raced with questions, but fear stifled her tongue. Dylan’s attitude terrified her. If Lawrence decided to target her next, would she even survive? Without another word, Karen turned and fled from Dior, too afraid to even breathe near Lawrence.

Lawrence, meanwhile, was left bewildered. When did I ever say I wanted to crush the Xu family? And I don’t even know who the family is, let alone how to “take my anger out” on them.

Still, he had no intention of pursuing the matter. His voice remained calm as he looked at Dylan. "Get up. I won’t go after the Walker family."

Dylan froze, then slowly lifted his gaze. Seeing no trace of anger in Lawrence’s expression, relief washed over him. He clambered to his feet, bowing repeatedly. "Thank you, Mr. Lawrence. Thank you, Mr. Lawrence!"

Eager to make amends, Dylan turned to the manager and barked, "Hurry up and pack that bag for Mr. Lawrence. I’ll pay for it." He pulled out his card without hesitation.

The bag was priced at 200,000 yuan. The thought pained him, but Dylan didn’t flinch. If spending 200,000 yuan earns Lawrence’s favor, it’s worth it. Even if it costs me two million, it’s worth it. If Lawrence is pleased, the Xu family could rise overnight. The profit would dwarf today’s loss.

But Lawrence shook his head, his tone indifferent. "No need. I have the money to buy it myself."

Then, his voice turned cold. "Is there anything else? If not, you may leave."

Years of part-time work had taught Lawrence one thing: favors are easy to owe, but hard to repay. And with his current wealth, 200,000 yuan was nothing. He didn’t need Dylan’s “help.”

Dylan’s heart sank. Lawrence clearly wanted no ties with him. Still, he refused to give up completely. Fishing a business card from his pocket, he handed it over respectfully. "In that case, I won’t disturb you further. This is my card. If you ever need anything, please contact me."

Lawrence gave the card a passing glance before slipping it casually into his pocket.

That tiny gesture alone was enough to make Dylan’s spirits lift. He accepted it! He might not see me as important now, but at least he knows my name. Maybe in the future… Excitement stirred faintly in his chest as he quietly exited the store.

The moment Dylan left, the manager turned her attention to Mary. Her expression hardened, her voice sharp as a blade. "As for you—go to finance, collect your salary, and leave the company. We don’t need snobbish salespeople like you here."

Mary’s face drained of color. Her legs buckled, and she dropped to her knees in front of Lawrence, sobbing. "Mr. Lawrence, please, I beg you! Don’t let the manager fire me!"

Her cries were filled with genuine desperation. Working at Dior had given her a salary higher than most white-collar workers—almost 20,000 dollars a month. She couldn’t accept being reduced to a cheap boutique job, earning a few thousand at best. Worse, if she was fired from a luxury store, her name would be blacklisted across the entire Luxury Alliance. No luxury brand would ever hire her again.

Lawrence frowned, irritation flickering in his eyes. Why does everyone like to kneel?

Just as he was about to dismiss her, Hailey timidly stepped forward, her voice soft but earnest. "Mr. Lawrence, could you let Mary off this once? She may have a sharp tongue, but she’s actually been helpful to us. She’s a very professional salesperson."

Mary froze in shock. She had never treated Hailey kindly. In fact, she had openly looked down on her. And yet, Hailey was the one pleading for her now. Her throat tightened as unfamiliar guilt and gratitude twisted inside her.

Lawrence glanced at Mary, then back at Hailey. His tone was flat. "For Hailey’s sake, I’ll let it go this time."

Mary’s tears spilled over. She kowtowed gratefully. "Thank you, Mr. Lawrence. Thank you!"

Hailey helped her to her feet, and Mary’s eyes shimmered with gratitude as she whispered, "Thank you…"

Lawrence checked the time and frowned. "Can you wrap that bag up for me now?" he said urgently.

It was Jasmine’s birthday. He had wasted enough time here already.

"Yes, of course!" The manager rushed to the counter, carefully wrapping the luxury bag before presenting it to Lawrence with both hands.