Chapter 13


    He did not seem like the type to indulge in frivolity.


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    Whitney rose with a chill in her voice, “Let’s go, Sir. Ignore the barking mutt.”


    “She involved me, so now she’ll have to howl in misery.”


    Roselyn did not grasp the man’s meaning, only noticing how his thin lips curled into an irresistible


    charm, saying, “What are you spacing out for? Order,e on.”


    “Fine, order whatever you want!” Roselyn tossed down her ck card.


    The man elegantly summoned the manager, who shivered under his gaze, dutifully saying, “Please


    ce your


    order, Sir.”


    “Bring me all of your menus,” the man said.


    Roselyn figured there was only a menu or two at most.


    But the manager presented twenty menus, each listing 20 dishes!


    The man’s voice was cool as he said, “Serve everything.”


    “What in the world are you doing?” Roselyn gasped.


    “Didn’t you want to treat me to a meal?”


    Once the words were out, with the alumni chat live–streaming, Roselyn steeled herself, “Alright then,


    the credit limit on Monica’s ck card is quite substantial!”


    After serving four hundred dishes, the total came to three million dors.


    Roselyn’s lips trembled with fear. The man’s lips curved, “Go settle the bill, and I’ll follow you.”


    Roselyn just wanted to sleep with him, and the prize was seemingly within grasp. Thus, she eagerly


    went to


    pay.


    But at the front desk, the ck card suddenly did not work!


    The manager stated tly, “I’m sorry, but this card has been canceled. It’s not sufficient for a Southern


    Elegance Club membership. Please pay in cash, or it’s considered dining and dashing, and we will


    notify the police. You’remitting a crime.”


    Roselyn was dumbstruck; how could the card be void?


    “Check again, please. This ck card was issued by the Perlman family’s second son, Simon!”


    The manager sneered, dismissing Simon as insignificant.


    He called over security, who escorted Roselyn right back to Whitney’s table.


    The managerid it out for her, “You’ve offended my guest. Apologize on your knees, or it’s off to the


    police


    station!”


    Roselyn looked at Whitney, unable to believe that Whitney and the thug were the manager’s guests.


    Her eyes zed, her face ashen with rage.


    But she did not have the funds. She had only relied on Monica’s card to trample over Whitney.


    “Will you kneel or not?” The manager urged, watching his esteemed guest’s expression.


    Roselyn could only swallow her pride and kneel.


    The man lifted his gazezily, his face cold, and said to Whitney, “Give me your phone.”


    Whitney was stunned by this turn of events but figured it was his y. She handed over her phone.


    11.57


    The man opened her Facebook, snapped a photo of kneeling Roselyn, and shared it in the buzzing


    alumni chat. Everyone was waiting for the follow–up on Whitney’s supposed dine–and–dash.


    Suddenly, they saw Roselyn kneeling at Whitney’s table, with Whitney half in the frame.


    Whitney had posted the photo!


    The chat went eerily quiet.


    Whitney nced at the man, who must have heard her phone ringing incessantly.


    His brows were deep–set, his look detached and proud. Roselyn must be blind to mistake him for a


    thug.


    Whitney raised an eyebrow, then typed a message. [Having someone kneel while you dine adds a


    touch of excitement, doesn’t it?]


    She had been silent until now, even when the chat was at its liveliest.


    Now, herment was met with a strange silence.


    Then, the man nced at Roselyn. “Where’s your apology?”


    Her hands shaking, Roselyn opened the Facebook group and saw her humiliating image. Not wanting


    to go to the police station, she typed with shivering hands, [Whitney, I’m sorry.]


    As soon as she sent the message, the chat wentpletely silent, the collective gasp almost audible.


    Within seconds, one of the young men who had been bidding for Whitney’s attention stepped forward.


    [Whitney, I’m sorry about earlier.]


    Though they did not understand the situation, Whitney seemed to have some powerful backing, given


    how Roselyn ended up.


    Better not to offend her.


    Several others followed suit, apologizing to Whitney in a neat line.


    Whitney put down her phone, silently admiring the tall, handsome man rising from the table, suddenly


    finding


    his terse manner rather attractive.


    Whitney’s furtive nces did not go unnoticed by the man, who also had the security do something.


    They broke Roselyn’s right hand, the one that had touched his chin.


    A woman’s scream echoed, and Whitney heard the man’s indifferent voice, “You see, I’m a thug. I can’t


    pay you, and it’s best you don’t call the cops either.”


    Roselyn’s gaze was venomous but also inexplicably fearful of the thug. It was not until they had left that


    she wailed in pain, “Whitney, don’t think this is over. Monica won’t let you get away with this!”


    Whitney was not worried about her tattling to Monica; she was whisked away by the man into his car.


    After a moment, she smiled and said, “Thanks for standing up for me just now.”


    “Well, you are my ‘wife‘ after all.” The man’s deep, maic voice made the word ‘wife‘ sound


    unfamiliar yet oddly sensual.