Chapter 3

The ballroom gleamed resplendent beneath gold and crystal.

To catch Brandon’s confession in his own words, I slipped into the event under the guise of a server.

Across the hall, he stood at the center of a crowd of spoiled rich heirs.

Zane raised his wineglass with a smirk and said, "Back then, Bran embezzled money from the Hastings Foundation just to play the hero. And that fool of a girl actually believed he'd saved her."

Another young heir laughed loudly, as if deliberate so I could hear every word.

"Seriously. She was dirt poor. Toss her a little cash and she'd devote her whole life to you. She’d do whatever you told her."

Brandon frowned but didn't deny a single word. He simply took a leisurely sip of his wine.

"That's enough. Stop talking. She hasn’t had it easy either."

His lofty pity was even more revolting than outright insults.

I placed my tray on the table and quietly pressed the “save” button on the voice recorder hidden inside my pocket.

Just then, Brandon turned and spotted me in my plain server's uniform.

The gazes of the surrounding socialites and wealthy heirs with their undisguised contempt were sharp enough to sting.

A flash of panic crossed Brandon’s face. He strode over, seized my wrist, and dragged me into an empty hallway. His brows drew together.

"Who told you to come dressed like this and embarrass yourself? Are you deliberately trying to make me look bad?"

I met his gaze without emotion. Whatever warmth I still had left for him vanished completely.

He assumed my resentment stemmed from jealousy and intended to buy it away with money.

He then pulled out an unlimited black card and shoved it into my uniform pocket. He said, "Take this. Buy yourself some designer outfits, then stay backstage. Stop upsetting Quinny.

"Otherwise, don't blame me for what happens."

That was always his way. First the stick, then the carrot; believing this approach would smooth things over.

With a cold glare, I slapped his hand away without hesitation.

The black card landed softly on the plush carpet.

"Brandon... Do you really believe everything in this world can be bought?"

He paused before anger darkened his expression.

"What's gotten into you now? I'm trying to save you some face! Do you have to make a scene until everyone ends up embarrassed before you call it a day?"

“Save me some face?” I gave a faint laugh, letting my eyes drift over his immaculate tailored suit.

"Can something stolen... become respectable just because you wear it?"

His face changed. He didn't seem to grasp what I meant, but instinctively, he felt a twinge of unease.

"What are you talking about? Listen carefully, today is Quinny's showcase. Don't you dare ruin it."

He tugged irritably at his tie, unable to hide the uneasiness creeping across his face.

I ignored him completely and walked toward the backstage entrance.

Inside my pocket, my fingers closed around a vial of chemical reagent. My heartbeat remained unnervingly calm.

For five years, he had humiliated me with kindness that had never belonged to him.

Today, with my own hands, I’d send him straight to hell.

The backstage corridor was dimly lit. Quinn's assistant hurried past carrying an elegant presentation case.

Inside it rested Phoenix Pavilion, the masterpiece they had stolen from me.

Leaning against the wall, I sent a single text, [I'm ready.]

The screen lit up almost immediately, displaying a brief reply, [Wait for me.]

The host's voice rang out across the ballroom as the final showcase had begun.

Camera flashes erupted one after another, marking tonight as Quinn's crowning moment.

It was also the countdown to their downfall.