2: 2

2

The moment I said it.

The people who had been quietly eating pretended not to care, but every one of them stopped moving at the same time.

Ears pricked, all of them, terrified of missing a single word.

Everyone knew.

Five years ago, Maureen Fox destroyed my hand. I would never lift a scalpel again.

The youngest, most promising surgical genius, reduced to a cripple overnight.

These people, asking me, "So how have these five years treated you?"

It wasn't concern. It was the wish to watch a cripple wallow in his own ruin.

I lifted my glass, took a small sip, and gave a faint smile.

"Can't complain."

"Can't complain?"

Dylan Delgado let out an exaggerated burst of laughter, as if he'd just heard the joke of the century.

"Brendan Vance, who are you trying to fool?"

"Dressed like some beggar chief, and you've still got the nerve to say you can't complain?"

Dylan's eyes raked over me, top to bottom, full of contempt.

"Dylan!"

Maureen tugged at his arm, signaling him to stop.

But Dylan didn't rein it in. If anything, he got louder.

"Brendan, everyone here knows you're nothing but a cripple now."

"If things went badly for you, just say so. Nobody's going to laugh at you for it. Why puff yourself up and pretend?"

"Tell you what. Since you can't take a handout, my company happens to need a janitor to scrub the toilets. Just beg me, and I'll let you have the job. How's that?"

I looked at him, my face blank.

"No thanks."

His face went stiff mid-grin, humiliated in front of everyone.

"Give you a chance and you spit on it!"

"What, too good to scrub toilets?"

"You think you're still that medical prodigy everybody worshipped?"

"Let me spell it out for you. Fox Group is about to partner with Deepcloud Capital. When the tide comes in and everything rises with it, a piece of garbage like you won't even qualify to clean the toilets."

When he said Deepcloud Capital, Dylan's whole face turned smug and self-important.

"Deepcloud Capital?"

I frowned slightly.

Dylan misread the reaction completely.

"Country bumpkin. Never even heard of Deepcloud Capital."

He laughed, wildly overdone, looking at me the way you'd look at a heap of trash.

"Deepcloud Capital is the sword of Damocles hanging over the entire business world. Everyone else follows the rules. Deepcloud Capital is the one who writes them."

"Though I can't really blame you for being so ignorant. At your level, the only thing you'd ever get near these days is probably the scrap yard!"

The moment Dylan finished, the crowd broke into waves of laughter.

I watched them coldly, all of them laughing at me without a shred of restraint.

They didn't know.

Five years.

Long enough to drop a man from the clouds into the mud.

And long enough for a man to climb back out of it.

The Deepcloud Capital they kept talking about was mine. I built it.

And I had never received any word that Deepcloud Capital was partnering with the Foxs.

It wasn't that I looked down on them.

With Fox Group's size and pedigree, they probably didn't even qualify to partner with Deepcloud Capital.

But none of that was something I cared to explain to them.

Still, the ones who didn't know the truth, hearing that Fox Group was about to partner with Deepcloud Capital, raised their glasses to Dylan one after another.

It was "Executive Assistant Delgado" this and "Executive Assistant Delgado" that, every word dripping with flattery.

Dylan drank it all in, floating, his chin practically tipped toward the ceiling.

"See that, Brendan? That's the power of capital."

"A pauper like you can only roll around in the mud your whole life."

I gave a small, expressionless nod.

"Mm. I see it."

Dylan radiated superiority from every pore, so thick you couldn't pretend not to notice it.

Maybe my indifference struck some raw, fragile nerve.

The smugness on his face froze in an instant, replaced by the flush of a man humiliated at being ignored.

He slammed his palm down on the table, pitched his voice higher, and jabbed a finger toward my face, demanding through gritted teeth:

"Brendan Vance, what's that supposed to mean?"

"A broke piece of garbage like you dares look down on Deepcloud Capital?"

I lifted my eyes slowly, looked at him in his frantic, humiliated rage, and smiled.

"Has it occurred to you?"

"It's not Deepcloud Capital I look down on. It's you."

3: 3

3

My voice wasn't loud, but every word came through clear.

They landed on Dylan like an invisible slap across the face.

"You bitch! You want to die!"

"You think a cripple like you gets to mock me?"

Dylan flew into a rage, fist raised, already lunging to hit me.

"Dylan!"

Maureen, silent until now, finally moved.

She grabbed his arm as he charged, shaking her head, trying to talk him down.

"Just let it go!"

Instead, Dylan wrenched his arm free, disbelief all over his face.

"Let it go?"

"Maureen, this cripple humiliates me in front of everyone, and you want me to let it go?"

"Don't tell me you're still carrying a torch for him. You feel sorry for him?"

Maureen froze, shot me a quick glance, and denied it flat out.

"I don't, so stop talking nonsense."

But maybe I imagined it.

When she saw my face stay perfectly calm, a flicker of disappointment crossed her eyes and was gone.

By now jealousy had burned away whatever sense Dylan had left. He shoved her hand off again and let out a sneer.

"Nonsense? Ever since he showed up, your eyes have practically been glued to him."

"What is it? Having regrets?"

"Don't forget, you're the one who threw yourself at me and climbed into my bed."

"You're the one who said I was the love you were destined for, and that Brendan Vance was nothing."

"Take a good look. I'm your husband now."

In that instant, every eye on Maureen changed.

Back then, no one had known the truth.

The world had always assumed I'd hurt Dylan out of jealousy.

Only now did they understand that Maureen had cheated first.

"Enough, stop talking!"

"Today is my cousin's wedding. Don't lose your mind here."

Maureen's face went from pale to red, burning with shame and fury.

She deliberately dropped her voice, coaxing him softly.

"You won't let me say it, so I'll say it anyway—"

The more Maureen humbled herself, the harder Dylan pushed.

I watched the whole farce play out and suddenly found it pointless.

Even sparing it another glance felt like a waste of time.

I stood and walked toward the door.

"Stop right there! Did I say you could leave?"

Dylan's roar came with a wine cup that cut through the air and shattered hard at my feet.

A crack.

The cup hit the floor, dark red wine and shards of glass spraying everywhere.

A sharp sting ran across the back of my hand.

I looked down at the blood welling from the cut, and my eyes went cold.

It seemed some people today were destined to come to a bad end.

The cold edge in my gaze rattled Dylan, and he took an involuntary step back.

"What are you doing?"

"You wouldn't actually try to hit me, would you?"

"Let me tell you, things aren't what they used to be. I'm practically half of Deepcloud Capital now. You lay one finger on me and I'll make sure you can't survive anywhere in Cloudport."

I let a mocking curve pull at the corner of my mouth.

"Half of Deepcloud Capital?"

Dylan nodded, chin high, jabbing his finger toward my face.

"That's right."

"So, Brendan Vance, if you don't get down on your knees and apologize today, you're not walking out that door."

Maureen sighed and tried to talk me around.

"Brendan, just apologize to Dylan, all right?"

I let out a cold laugh.

"And if I don't?"

Maureen frowned slightly.

"Brendan, it's only an apology."

"Do you really want to make an enemy of Deepcloud Capital?"

I shook my head slowly.

"You've got it wrong. I'm not making an enemy of Deepcloud Capital."

I paused, my gaze sliding past Maureen to Dylan behind her.

"I just can't stand certain people. A dog that only barks because of its master's power."

4: 4

4

"Who the hell do you think you're talking to?"

"Say that again if you've got the nerve!"

Dylan blew up like a cat with its tail stepped on.

Rage twisted his face into something ugly.

"You crippled piece of trash, you really think you're something. Today I'm going to teach you a lesson, you good-for-nothing who doesn't know his place!"

He lunged, swinging a fist straight at my face.

Maureen frowned, but this time she didn't move to stop him.

I didn't so much as flinch.

The instant his fist was about to reach me, my hand shot out and clamped down on his wrist, dead on.

Dylan struggled with everything he had.

But he couldn't break free.

He froze, and the question buried in his mind came out before he could stop it.

"Wasn't your hand ruined?"

Even Maureen was staring in surprise at the hand I had locked around Dylan's wrist.

A jagged scar ran across the inside of the wrist.

Maureen knew it well.

It was the mark left the year she personally had my hand tendons cut.

The corner of my mouth curved into a mocking line as I smiled. "Sorry to disappoint you both."

No one knew.

What had I gone through in the past five years?

Every day, aside from ordinary work, I spent nearly all of my time on rehab for that hand.

Five years of treatment and rehab, and my hand was basically back to what it had been.

The one thing I could never get back was the fine control it took to hold a scalpel. That was gone for good.

Once, my greatest dream had been to be the most respected surgeon there was.

And because of Dylan and Maureen, that dream would never happen again.

Hatred surged over me like a tide.

My eyes went cold, my voice colder than something out of hell. "Dylan, you clearly remember the good times and forget the beatings."

"Is your third leg still working?"

"Maybe too much time has passed, long enough that you've forgotten how it felt when it got broken. I don't mind refreshing your memory."

As I spoke, my gaze dropped to between his legs.

In that instant, the force coming off me left everyone stunned, and the whole wedding hall went dead silent.

Something seemed to occur to Dylan, and his pupils shrank all at once.

His legs clamped shut on instinct.

"You— you wouldn't dare!"

"Aren't you afraid Maureen will cut your hand tendons again?"

I gave a cold laugh. "Then let's find out."

Under the horrified, disbelieving eyes of everyone there, I raised my foot and drove it hard between Dylan's legs.

"Ahh—"

A shrill scream tore out of him.

Dylan's face went white as snow, veins bulging at his temples.

Both hands clamped over his crotch, he curled up like a shrimp and dropped to his knees, rolling on the floor in agony.

"Dylan?!"

Maureen went pale with shock.

"Brendan Vance, are you insane?"

She never imagined that after the tendon-cutting revenge five years ago, I would still dare to raise a hand against anyone.

"Brendan Vance, you're dead!"

"I'm the contact personally named and appointed by Deepcloud Capital. You cross me, you cross Deepcloud Capital, and they won't let you off."

Dylan's eyes were red enough to bleed, his face twisted beyond recognition.

We were making too much noise.

Roger, who had been toasting at other tables, hurried over.

He arrived just in time to hear Dylan spit out his threat.

Roger stopped short, frowning at Dylan still writhing on the floor. "Do you even know who you're talking to?"

"He's—"

Roger was the only person who knew my true identity.

Just as he was about to say it out loud, I gave a slight shake of my head.

Now wasn't the time.

I wanted to see for myself exactly who had given Dylan all this nerve.

Right then, a clatter of hurried footsteps came from the doorway.

A crowd swept in around a middle-aged man in a sharp suit.

The moment Dylan saw who it was, his eyes lit up, as if he'd caught sight of his last lifeline.