Chapter 4

Matthews enthusiastically played along, his tone dripping with feigned excitement. "Amara, what's going on? Is there a major new project in the works at the company?"

"Precisely," she replied.

"I've caught wind that The Secret Hour Club's owner is a brilliant young prodigy, brought back at considerable expense by Bellemont's top brass."

"They say this individual only takes on projects worth over ten billion."

"Bellemont's commercial sector has been struggling lately, with half the new development area vacant. But word has it, this person is here specifically to address that issue."

"My father has connections to Bellemont's upper echelons," Amara boasted, reveling in the attention. "If we can get a piece of this project, we'll be rolling in money again."

Amara then turned to me, her eyes glinting with self-satisfaction. "Cassia, I recall how you nearly lost control when you saw my family's Bentley years ago. I still own it, you know. Can you drive now? If so, why not be my chauffeur? I'll let you take it for a spin."

"I've only ever operated domestic vehicles," I responded with a nonchalant shrug.

Once more, laughter erupted, their voices filling the space.

Were their jests truly that amusing? Even at a professional comedy show I'd attended at Mystique Lounge in the capital, the laughter hadn't come so easily.

The more composed I remained, the more frustrated they became. It was like striking a pillow, offering no resistance and no gratification. They started to grow irritated, especially Amara, who clearly relished keeping me as her personal target.

She gestured towards a liquor bottle on the table, smirking. "Cassia, have you ever sampled Screaming Eagle Sauvignon Blanc? It's quite costly. Here's your chance to try it. If you finish the entire bottle, I'll let you leave."

I abstained from alcohol; it had an unpleasant way of clouding the mind.

"I don't drink," I said, shaking my head.

The antics persisted, and I'd had enough. It was time to reveal my hand. "Amara, I own The Secret Hour Club. The billion-dollar project you're so keen to discuss? It's mine."

I spoke with steady, unwavering seriousness.

Instead of belief, I was met with mocking expressions, as if they were watching some sort of sideshow act.

And, predictably, they burst into laughter once more.

Matthews pointed at me, smirking. "Cassia, you've got some nerve. Did you major in bragging at Ivory Heights?"

"I'm in stitches! Why not claim to be Kaia Morgan while you're at it?" Nyla chimed in, her laughter pealing like a bell.

I sighed, regarding them with a mix of amusement and frustration. "Is there a problem with your perception? Have you ever encountered an Ivory Heights graduate working as a server?"

They paused, but the contempt still lingered in their eyes.

Amara sneered, her voice dripping with disdain. "Does it matter? Whether you're a server or not, you're still a pauper compared to me."

She stood, pointed at the liquor bottle, and smirked. "Drink it, or I'll smash it over your head. Your choice."

"If I drink it, can I leave?" I asked, my voice calm but tinged with sarcasm.

Before I could continue, Gabriel suddenly rose. He grabbed the bottle, inhaled deeply, and then, without hesitation, said, "I'll drink it for her, and then she can go."

Why was he helping me?

Was he worried that if I stayed, I'd lose my composure and bring up that night?

I stared at him, my heart a tangle of emotions I couldn't quite control.

Just then, the door to Amber Crescent Pavilion creaked open.

Westley and Jaxon entered, one after the other, making a subtle but noticeable appearance.

Jaxon, a familiar face in local news, was immediately recognized by those in the room.

Westley, my assistant, had also been in the public eye enough to be somewhat known.

As soon as Amara spotted them, her eyes lit up with sudden eagerness. She practically flew across the room, her smile oozing sweetness as she bowed. "Uncle Jaxon, Assistant Westley, what brings you here today?"

The others quickly followed suit, rising from their seats in unison.

I, however, remained firmly seated on the oak barrel, unperturbed.

Amara's sharp gaze flicked to me, and she scolded, her voice thick with anger, "Cassia, get up! Don't you see who's here?"