Humiliation

Chapter Seven

Martina’s POV

“See who we have here…”

A slow, mocking clap follows the voice.

“The almighty Martina.”

My fingers tighten slightly around the tray, but I keep my face blank, forcing my breathing to stay even.

Arianna.

Of course it’s her.

“I was actually having a terrible day,” she continues, leaning back in her seat like she owns the entire bar. Her lips curl into a cruel smile. “Not until I saw you. I can’t believe I’d find you here… of all places.”

Her eyes drag over me—my apron, my worn shoes, the tray in my hand—taking everything in with open disgust.

For a split second, I imagine dropping the tray right on her head.

The image is so satisfying it almost makes me smile.

Almost.

But I can’t.

I need this money.

I swallow hard, forcing the anger down.

“Here’s your drink,” I say flatly, setting the glass on the table with controlled precision.

Today was supposed to be a good day.

I got a job. A real job.

And now… this.

If I didn’t come here myself, I’d swear she planned this with the boss just to humiliate me.

“Is that how you attend to a customer?” Arianna’s voice sharpens instantly. “Have you forgotten your place so soon?”

I don’t respond.

“Let me remind you,” she continues, leaning forward slightly. “You’re a servant. Someone like you will always serve people of our caliber.”

Her words hit, but I refuse to let them show.

Instead, I let out a short, dry scoff.

“But you know what?” she adds, suddenly smiling again. “I’m feeling generous tonight.”

She taps the empty chair beside her.

“Sit.”

I let out a louder scoff this time.

“My job isn’t to sit with you,” I reply, my voice colder now. “My job is to serve you and leave.”

Her smile stiffens.

“Still trying to act important,” she mutters, rolling her eyes. Then she raises her voice. “Mr. Mike!”

The bar owner rushes over almost immediately, wiping his hands nervously on a cloth.

“Hope there’s no problem?” he asks, his eyes darting between us.

“Not at all,” Arianna says sweetly, her tone a complete contrast to moments ago. “She’s someone I know… and I want her to sit with me.”

Mr. Mike hesitates, glancing at me.

Arianna’s expression darkens.

“Aren’t you going to answer?” she snaps.

“Yes—yes, of course,” he stammers.

Then she leans back again, crossing her legs elegantly.

“How much do you pay her per hour?” she asks casually.

The question hangs in the air.

Mr. Mike looks at me again—this time longer, almost apologetically—before quietly stating the amount.

For a second, there’s silence.

Then

Arianna bursts into laughter.

Loud. Sharp. Cutting.

It turns heads.

“That?” she says between laughs. “That’s perfect. The price suits someone like you.”

Each word feels like a slap.

My jaw tightens.

She slowly reaches into her designer bag, her movements deliberate, calculated—like she’s building up to something.

And before I can even react—

She pulls out a stack of cash.

My breath catches.

Then, with a smirk, she flicks her wrist—

And throws it straight at me.

The notes scatter, hitting my face, my chest, falling to the floor around me like I’m nothing more than a performance.

Something in me snaps.

Completely.

My patience shatters.

For a second, I don’t move.

The music is still blaring. People are still talking. Glasses are still clinking.

But around me… everything feels silent.

The cash lies scattered at my feet.

On my apron.

On the floor.

Like I’m something to be bought.

Something disposable.

My hands curl slowly into fists at my sides.

“Pick it up,” Arianna says lazily, swirling her drink like she’s bored already. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”

A few people nearby are watching now.

Of course they are.

They love a show.

My chest rises and falls, each breath heavier than the last. I can feel it—that dangerous heat crawling up my spine, settling behind my eyes.

Walk away.

Pick the money and walk away.

You need it.

You need it.

But my body doesn’t move.

“Or what?” she adds, tilting her head, that same cruel smile playing on her lips. “Your pride is suddenly too big for this kind of job?”

That does it.

I let out a low, humorless laugh.

Then I slowly crouch down.

Gasps ripple softly around us.

Good.

Let them watch.

Let them all watch.

I pick up one note.

Then another.

My fingers tremble—but not from shame.

From anger.

From years of swallowing insults.

From pretending it doesn’t hurt.

I gather the money calmly, dusting it off like it means nothing, even though we both know it means everything.

When I rise, I don’t look away this time.

I stare straight at her.

Right into her eyes.

“You’re right,” I say quietly.

Her smile widens, victorious.

“I am here to work.”

I take a step closer.

Close enough to see the flicker of surprise in her eyes.

Before she can react—

I grab the glass of drink on the table.

And pour it right over her head.

The liquid splashes down her perfectly styled hair, dripping onto her expensive dress, her makeup beginning to run instantly.

A collective gasp erupts across the bar.

This time, I smile.

Sweetly and deadly.

“Oops,” I say softly. “Looks like I made a mistake.”

For a second, Arianna just sits there frozen.

Shocked.

Then

“You—” she chokes, shooting to her feet, her chair screeching loudly against the floor. “You bitch!”

Her hand lifts, ready to strike

But I don’t flinch.

“Don’t,” I say, my voice dropping low, dangerous.

Something in my tone must reach her, because she hesitates.

Just for a second.

And that second is enough.

“You can throw money at me,” I continue, my voice steady despite the storm inside me. “You can insult me. Talk down on me. Pretend you’re better than me.”

I lean in slightly.

“But don’t ever forget…”

My eyes harden.

“I’m not beneath you.”

The air between us turns suffocating.

Tense.

Explosive.

Behind her, I can feel Mr. Mike panicking, shifting, unsure whether to step in or stay out of it.

The entire bar is watching now.

No one’s pretending anymore.

Arianna’s chest rises and falls rapidly, her face twisted with rage and humiliation.

“This isn’t over,” she spits.

“I know it’s not over,” I say softly, my voice steady despite the storm in my chest. Then I let out a small, almost mocking smile. “But you know what? I just got a job… and I’m feeling generous.”

I take a step closer to her.

Close enough that she stiffens slightly, just barely.

The crowd is still watching. I can feel their eyes burning into us, waiting for the next move, the next humiliation, the next explosion.

I tilt my head slightly, lowering my voice.

“Walk out quietly,” I whisper near her ear, my tone calm but cutting. “People are watching you.”

A pause.

“You’re the only rich, popular one here… not me.”

My lips curve faintly.

“You’ll be embarrassed if you stay longer than five seconds.”