When the Loser Became rich heir

CHAPTER 9

Chapter Nine

Luca raised an eyebrow, a cold smile playing at his lips. "You want to meet Lorenzo De Luca? That's interesting."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Alessandro demanded.

"It means," Luca said quietly, "that Mr. De Luca doesn't cooperate with people who lack basic moral standards. He values integrity. Something neither of you would understand."

Isabella's face flushed crimson. Her gray eyes blazed with fury as she stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the polished floor. The sound drew even more attention from nearby tables.

"Moral standards? You dare lecture me about morals?" Her voice rose, sharp and cutting. "Your mother is lying in a hospital bed, fighting for her life, and you're here—at the most expensive restaurant in the city—stealing her medical expenses to stuff your face with caviar and champagne!"

Gasps rippled through the dining room. Heads turned. Silverware paused mid-air.

An elderly woman at a nearby table whispered loudly to her companion, "Did you hear that? He stole from his dying mother?"

"Disgusting," a man in a business suit muttered. "Absolutely disgusting."

A younger couple at another table shook their heads, their expressions filled with contempt. "What kind of person does that?" the woman said.

Isabella's lips curved into a satisfied smile as the whispers spread like wildfire. She crossed her arms, her posture radiating cold superiority. "You see, Luca? Everyone can see what you really are. Not just a loser—but genuine scum. The kind of filth that decent people scrape off their shoes."

Alessandro leaned back in his chair, his smirk widening. "Honestly, I'm impressed. I didn't think you could sink any lower, but here we are. Using your dying mother's treatment money to pretend you're someone important. That takes a special kind of depravity."

"Yeah," a diner called out from across the room. "That's messed up, man. Real messed up."

Luca's jaw clenched. The walls seemed to close in as dozens of eyes bore into him with judgment and disgust. But beneath his rising anger, something else stirred—cold, calculating clarity.

"You're satisfied now?" Isabella continued, her voice dripping with disdain. "You've got everyone's attention. You're finally the center of something, even if it's just universal contempt. But let me make something perfectly clear."

She took a step closer, her heels clicking authoritatively against the marble floor. Her face was a mask of ice—beautiful, cold, utterly devoid of empathy.

"Since you clearly don't care whether your mother lives or dies—since you'd rather spend her life-saving money on expensive suits and fancy dinners—I'm officially cutting off all medical payments. Permanently. Not one more dollar will go toward her treatment."

The declaration hung in the air like a death sentence.

Luca's hands trembled at his sides. When he spoke, his voice was low and dangerous. "Medical payments? When have you ever actually paid them?"

Isabella blinked, thrown off balance. "What are you talking about? I've paid every month—"

"No," Luca interrupted, his voice rising. "Every single month, I've had to beg. I've had to submit applications like I'm applying for welfare. And every time—every single time—your precious assistant here tells me the same thing: 'The company's finances are tight. Request denied.'"

Alessandro's confident smirk flickered. A thin sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead despite the restaurant's cool air conditioning.

"That's... that's because the requests were unreasonable," Alessandro stammered, loosening his collar slightly. "You were constantly asking for excessive amounts—"

"Excessive?" Luca's voice cracked like a whip. "My mother needed medication to stay alive, and you called that excessive?"

Isabella turned to Alessandro, her expression unreadable. "Alessandro, is this true? Have you been denying every request?"

Alessandro's mind raced. He could feel the situation spiraling out of control. The money Luca had requested—the money Isabella had approved—had gone straight into Alessandro's own bank account. Thousands upon thousands of dollars over the past year. If Isabella discovered the truth...

His eyes darted to his phone on the table. The screen showed a news alert from earlier that afternoon—something about a massive charitable donation at Memorial Hospital.

Inspiration struck.

"Wait!" Alessandro said loudly, holding up his hands. "I just remembered something. I saw it on the news earlier today—there was this story about a mysterious billionaire who established a 100-million-dollar fund at Memorial Hospital. Specifically to help impoverished patients who can't afford treatment."

He pointed at Luca, his expression shifting from nervous to accusatory. "That's what happened, isn't it? You applied for help from this mysterious philanthropist. That's why you're suddenly so fearless. You found yourself a new sugar daddy to leech off of!"

The surrounding diners' expressions shifted from disgust to understanding, then back to contempt.

"Oh, so he's just replacing one handout with another," someone muttered.

"Still a parasite," another voice added. "Just found a new host."

Isabella's eyes narrowed as she studied Luca. "Is that it? Is that why you're not panicking about losing my support? You've already moved on to scamming some other wealthy fool?"

Alessandro pressed his advantage, his confidence returning. "It makes perfect sense. He probably fed this mysterious donor some sob story about being abandoned, painted himself as a victim. Classic con artist move."

"I see." Isabella's voice was flat, emotionless. She looked at Luca the way one might regard an insect. "So that's your game plan. Well, let me make myself absolutely clear."

She raised her voice so the entire dining room could hear. Every conversation stopped. Even the piano player paused mid-note.

"I, Isabella Benedetti, want everyone here to witness this declaration. I will never extend a helping hand to someone as morally bankrupt as Luca Romano. And furthermore—" she turned her icy gaze directly on him, "—I sincerely hope that whatever generous philanthropist was foolish enough to fund you will come to their senses. They should stop wasting their charity on a disgraceful individual like you. You don't deserve compassion. You don't deserve kindness. You deserve exactly what you are—nothing."

Alessandro nodded vigorously. "Absolutely. Someone should warn this mystery donor. They're being taken advantage of by a professional scammer."

The dining room erupted in murmurs of agreement. Heads nodded. Some diners

even applauded Isabella's harsh words.