Chapter 39: Shadows of the Past

The grand banquet hall glittered with excess, yet Jackim moved through it like a shadow. His presence was an anomaly—an unwelcome guest among those who thrived on inherited wealth and unearned privilege.

He adjusted the cuff of his tailored suit, an outfit that masked the truth of his past. Tonight, he wasn't the poor boy mocked and discarded. He was an enigma—a man the elites couldn't quite place.

But they would.

Soon.

A New Challenge

"Enjoying the view?"

Jackim turned to see Damian Rothschild standing beside him, sipping a glass of aged whiskey. The man was unreadable, a practiced smile playing on his lips.

Jackim returned the smirk. "It's… entertaining."

Damian chuckled. "You remind me of someone. A man who didn't belong but refused to kneel." He took another sip. "He didn't last long."

A veiled threat.

Jackim didn't flinch.

"Then I guess I'll have to be the exception."

Damian studied him, then let out a low laugh. "I hope you are. It would be a shame if this game ended too quickly."

Jackim watched as Damian disappeared into the crowd.

This wasn't just a banquet.

It was a battlefield.

And Jackim was done being prey.

Jackim made his way toward the open balcony, seeking a moment to think. But before he could step outside, a sharp voice stopped him.

"Well, well, look who decided to climb out of the gutter."

A sneering voice. Familiar.

Jackim turned.

Brandon Sinclair.

One of the many men who had once mocked him, treated him like filth, and laughed as Emma walked away from him.

Brandon smirked, swirling the expensive wine in his glass. "I have to say, Jackim, you clean up well. Almost convincing."

Jackim met his gaze with calm indifference. "And yet, you're still the same."

Brandon's smirk faltered.

A few nearby guests turned, sensing the tension.

Brandon scoffed, stepping closer. "Let me guess. You scammed your way into this party? Or did some rich fool take pity on you?"

Jackim smirked. "Funny. I was about to ask you the same thing."

Brandon's jaw tightened.

Laughter rippled through the crowd.

Brandon's face darkened. His reputation was everything. And Jackim had just humiliated him in front of everyone.

"Careful, Jackson," Brandon sneered. "You don't belong here."

Jackim's eyes glowed with quiet amusement. "And yet, here I am."

Brandon's fists clenched. But he wouldn't dare make a scene. Not here. Not now.

Jackim leaned in slightly. "Get used to it."

Brandon stormed away, seething.

Jackim smiled to himself.

One down.

Many more to go.

A Dance of Fate

The orchestra played a soft melody, filling the air with an elegance that felt almost otherworldly. Couples swayed across the dance floor, their movements precise and graceful.

Jackim wasn't interested in dancing.

But fate had other plans.

"May I have this dance?"

A woman's voice. Smooth, confident.

Jackim turned and found himself staring into emerald-green eyes.

She was breathtaking. A striking woman in a flowing silver gown, her hair cascading down her back like liquid gold. Her lips curved into a knowing smile.

"You don't seem like the type to enjoy parties," she mused.

Jackim raised an eyebrow. "And yet, here I am."

She chuckled. "Touché."

Jackim hesitated, then took her hand.

As they stepped onto the dance floor, he couldn't shake the feeling that this night was just beginning.

The game had started.

And he was ready to play.