The Return Of The Young Marshal's

The Birthday Party Begins

CHAPTER 8: The Birthday Party Begins

The evening sun cast long shadows across the grand entrance of the International Hotel as Cecilia's electric scooter sputtered to a stop at the valet stand. The vehicle's engine wheezed one final time before dying completely, drawing immediate attention from the cluster of well-dressed young people gathered near the entrance.

"Oh my God, is that a scooter?" A woman's voice rang out, dripping with amusement.

Cecilia climbed off the vehicle, her expression carefully neutral. Lorenzo followed, adjusting the cuffs of his new Armani suit with practiced ease. His presence commanded attention, but the damage was already done—their arrival had been witnessed.

"Cecilia!" Laura Marchetti glided forward in a champagne-colored cocktail dress that probably cost more than Cecilia's entire year's clothing budget. Her smile was bright and welcoming, but her eyes held a calculating gleam. "You actually came! And on... well, I see you brought your usual transportation."

"The scooter runs," Cecilia said simply, her tone flat and indifferent.

"Barely, from the sound of it." This came from Marcus Chen, a former classmate who now worked in finance. He exchanged glances with several others, smirking. "I thought maybe you'd upgrade after getting married, but I guess not everyone can afford luxury."

Lorenzo's jaw tightened slightly, but Cecilia placed a subtle hand on his arm. Her face remained impassive, showing none of the humiliation burning in her chest.

"Everyone, this is my boyfriend, Thomas Steele!" Laura pulled forward a tall, handsome man in his early thirties wearing an immaculate designer suit. "He's a junior manager at Steele Corporation. You know, the publicly-traded company? Worth hundreds of millions?"

The group immediately erupted in admiring murmurs and congratulations. Thomas's smile was practiced and confident, the expression of someone accustomed to being impressive.

"Steele Corporation? The real estate development firm?" Bianca Ross, another former classmate, practically glowed with envy. "Laura, you never mentioned you were dating someone so successful!"

"Thomas is being modest about his position," Laura cooed, linking her arm through his. "He oversees three major projects currently. Each one worth tens of millions."

"That's extraordinary," Marcus said, extending his hand to Thomas. "I've heard amazing things about Steele Corporation's growth potential."

Thomas accepted the handshake with practiced grace. "We're doing well. The market's been favorable."

Lorenzo stepped forward, extending his own hand politely. "Lorenzo Romano. Pleasure to meet you."

Thomas looked at Lorenzo's hand for a long moment before slowly reaching into his pocket and producing a pair of pristine white gloves. He pulled them on deliberately, each movement calculated for maximum effect, before finally shaking Lorenzo's hand.

The insult was subtle but unmistakable. The gloves suggested Lorenzo was somehow dirty, beneath him, unworthy of direct contact.

The group fell silent, some looking uncomfortable while others barely suppressed laughter.

Lorenzo's expression didn't change. He released Thomas's hand, reached into his own pocket, and withdrew a simple white napkin. Maintaining eye contact with Thomas, he carefully wiped his hand, then dropped the napkin into a nearby trash receptacle.

The message was clear: if Thomas needed gloves to shake his hand, Lorenzo needed to clean his hand after touching Thomas.

Laura's eyes widened slightly before she forced a laugh. "Well! Shall we head inside? I'm absolutely starving, and I can't wait to show you all the private dining room Thomas reserved!"

As they moved toward the entrance, Sophia Martinez sidled up to Cecilia. "So, Cecilia, where's your car? Did you park it somewhere else, or...?"

"We came on the scooter," Cecilia replied, her voice devoid of emotion or shame.

"Oh." Sophia's perfectly shaped eyebrows rose. "That's... practical, I suppose. Though I'm surprised you didn't borrow something nicer for Laura's birthday. My car's just a BMW, nothing fancy, but at least it's—"

"We don't own a car," Cecilia cut in flatly.

The admission caused several heads to turn. Klaus Becker, who'd been walking ahead, stopped and rotated slowly.

"Wait, you don't own a car?" Klaus's expression was almost pitying. "Cecilia, I know things have been difficult for you, but surely the Ferretti family—"

"The Ferretti family has nothing to do with me anymore," Cecilia said, her tone as cold and indifferent as winter frost. "Or hasn't the news reached you yet?"

Klaus exchanged glances with Marcus. "Actually, we've heard rumors. Something about you being expelled? But I thought that was just gossip."

"It's not gossip," Cecilia replied simply.

"Oh, Cecilia." Laura's voice dripped with false sympathy as she turned back. "I had no idea things were so bad. Why didn't you tell me? I would have... well, I'm not sure what I could have done, but still."

"There's nothing to be done," Cecilia said. "It's simply the situation."

They entered the hotel's opulent lobby—all marble columns and glittering chandeliers—and moved toward the elevators. Thomas held Laura close, clearly enjoying his role as the successful boyfriend providing for her special day.

"The cake alone cost fifteen thousand dollars," Laura announced as they stepped into the elevator. "Thomas insisted on getting it from Maison Douceur. They're the most exclusive patisserie in Marina Azzurra. Each slice is practically edible art."

"Fifteen thousand?" Bianca gasped. "For a cake?"

"Only the best for my Laura," Thomas said smoothly, pressing the button for the top floor.

"That's incredibly generous," Sophia gushed. "Cecilia, you must be so excited to try it!"

Before Cecilia could respond, Lorenzo spoke quietly. "I'll prepare my own cake for my wife."

The elevator went silent. Then Klaus burst out laughing.

"You'll prepare your own cake?" Klaus repeated, as if he'd heard wrong. "Like... you'll bake it yourself?"

"If necessary," Lorenzo replied calmly.

"Oh, this is rich!" Marcus joined the laughter. "Brother, do you have any idea what that cake costs? Fifteen thousand dollars! That's probably more than you earn in six months!"

"More than a year, probably," Klaus added, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. "Look at him, Marcus. Look at his clothes—nice suit, sure, but the shoes? Those are department store shoes. And he arrived on a dying scooter. This guy couldn't afford to feed his wife a decent meal, let alone match Thomas's cake."

"Klaus, that's unnecessarily cruel," Laura said, but her tone suggested she was thoroughly enjoying the spectacle. "I'm sure Lorenzo does his best with... limited resources."

"Limited resources?" Thomas's smile was razor-sharp. "That's charitable, Laura. I'd say nonexistent resources. Tell me, Lorenzo—what do you do for a living? Let me guess: retail? Food service?"

Lorenzo's expression remained neutral, but something dangerous flickered in his eyes. "I was in the military."

"Was?" Klaus pounced on the word. "So you're unemployed? Oh man, Cecilia, you really know how to pick them! First you get expelled from the Ferretti family, then you marry an unemployed ex-soldier who shows up to fancy dinners on a scooter!"

"At least he's not working retail," Marcus said, mockingly. "That would be truly embarrassing."

The elevator doors opened onto the top floor, revealing an elegant hallway leading to the private dining rooms. But before anyone could move, a distinguished man in his fifties appeared, walking briskly toward them.

Zachary Cuban, general manager overseeing over a dozen International Hotels in the region, radiated authority and competence. His custom-tailored suit and confident bearing marked him as someone important.

Thomas's face lit up immediately. He stepped forward, hand extended, a broad smile spreading across his features.

"Mr. Cuban! What a pleasant surprise! I'm Thomas Steele, from Steele Corporation. We've done significant business with your hotels—the corporate events, the client accommodations. I believe we spent nearly two million with Heaven International last quarter alone."

Zachary's eyes swept past Thomas's extended hand without acknowledgment, barely registering his presence.

Thomas's smile faltered. His hand hung awkwardly in the air for a moment before he slowly lowered it, confusion clouding his features.

"Mr. Cuban?" Thomas tried again, his voice less confident. "I'm not sure if you remember, but we met at the—"

Zachary walked past him as if he didn't exist, his attention focused elsewhere entirely.

The group exchanged confused glances. Laura's perfectly made-up face showed genuine shock. Thomas stood frozen, his expression cycling between confusion and humiliation.

Zachary stopped directly in front of Lorenzo.

And then, to everyone's absolute astonishment, Zachary bowed. Not a slight nod of acknowledgment, but a deep, formal bow that brought his silver-haired head level with his waist.

"Marshal Romano," Zachary said, his voice filled with profound respect. "Welcome to the International Hotel. It is an extraordinary honor to have you here."

The hallway seemed to freeze. Nobody moved. Nobody breathed.

Marshal?

"I apologize for not greeting you immediately upon your arrival," Zachary continued, still bowing. "Had I known you were coming, I would have prepared a proper reception. Please, forgive this oversight."

Lorenzo's expression remained neutral, but something in his posture shifted—became more commanding, more… dangerous.

"There's nothing to forgive, Mr. Cuban," Lorenzo said quietly. "We're simply here for a birthday celebration."

"Of course, Marshal. Anything you require—anything at all—is yours."

Klaus's mouth had fallen open. Marcus looked like he'd been struck by lightning. Thomas's face had gone pale, his earlier confidence evaporating like morning mist.

Laura's calculating eyes darted between Zachary and Lorenzo, her mind clearly racing to recalibrate.

But Cecilia's expression remained unchanged—cold, indifferent, as if powerful men bowing to her husband was something that happened every day.

Perhaps, she was beginning to realize, it was.