Chapter 5
“Racquelle, is this the obedient lapdog from the Smith family you mentioned?” Vernon asked, a smirk playing on his lips as he glanced at me. Racquelle, arms crossed, nodded disdainfully. “Exactly. He doesn’t fight back—always obedient. Move aside! Don’t block my path!” She shoved me, nearly causing me to stumble. She then climbed into the car with Vernon, without a backward glance. Lowering the window, she barked, “What are you standing around for? Get moving and take us to the party! If we’re late, you’ll pay the price.”
I steadied myself and nodded. “Yes, Ms. Smith.” Since my recent fainting spell after donating blood to Vernon, my health had weakened considerably. Even gripping the steering wheel required significant effort. When we hit a bump, Racquelle lunged forward and slapped me hard across the face. “Can’t you drive more carefully? Vernon just had surgery! Are you trying to reopen his stitches?” “Sorry,” I mumbled, suppressing the pain as I tightened my grip on the wheel. Behind me, Racquelle and Vernon exchanged sweet nothings, oblivious to my presence.
Half an hour later, we arrived. Racquelle, her face flushed, adjusted her hair before exiting, pulling Vernon by the hand. “You, come with us,” she commanded, tossing her expensive purse at me. I carefully caught the bag—worth over two hundred thousand. I had once dropped her purse, resulting in a half-year’s pay deduction. With only a month until my departure, I couldn’t risk another incident.
The event was the annual business gala, filled with wealthy heirs and entrepreneurs in custom suits, exuding confidence and sophistication. They possessed a self-assurance I deeply envied. I looked down at my simple, inexpensive outfit and rubbed my still-red cheek, feeling utterly out of place. Stifling my discomfort, I stepped onto the balcony for some air. A moment later, Vernon joined me, carrying two glasses of wine. He smiled. “Why not mingle? Aren’t you bored standing here alone?”
I waved him off. “I’m not a fan of these events. Too many people.”
“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow. “If I’m not mistaken, the renowned ‘business prodigy’ should manage just fine here. What’s changed?” He didn’t wait for my answer, offering me a glass of wine. “Come on. Have a drink with me—to thank you for getting me salmon porridge in the rain.”
I politely declined. “Sorry, I don’t drink.”
Vernon’s expression shifted as he moved closer, lowering his voice. “You don’t drink—or you just don’t want to accept my gesture?” Before I could respond, he abruptly splashed his drink on himself, shattered his glass, and fell with a yell.