Four years after Alberta Fox dumped me without warning, I ran into her at our class reunion during the Spring Festival.

Once everyone had settled into their seats, someone suggested we play Truth or Dare.

Alberta was the first victim. She drew Truth:

"What's the smartest thing you did in your last relationship?"

Her gaze slid toward me, and a slow smile curved her lips.

"I got my ex to pay off seven hundred thousand dollars in online loans for me. Then, once I'd landed a rich husband, I kicked him to the curb."

The room erupted.

Everyone expected me to storm out. Instead, I just smiled and gestured for the game to continue.

When my turn came, the question shifted:

"Did you ever hide anything from your partner in your last relationship?"

"Yes."

"What was it?"

"I'm actually the son of the richest man in Harbor City."

——

Silence.

Then the private room exploded with laughter.

"Mike, have you been watching too many CEO dramas while delivering takeout? You've gone delusional!"

"Bro, take some advice—quit the act. You haven't even taken off your delivery uniform!"

I glanced down at my yellow Armani casual jacket and the custom AGV helmet sitting beside me.

Fair enough. I do look like a delivery guy.

Before I could respond, Alberta's mocking voice cut through the noise.

"Mike Finch, it's been four years since we broke up. Are you still this desperate for attention?"

"This reunion is about reconnecting—there's no rich or poor here. Maybe try being genuine for once."

I leaned back in my chair, utterly unbothered, and regarded her with cool indifference.

"I am being genuine. I really am the son of the richest man in the city."

"How do you think you even got a reservation at the Emperor Suite in Pinecrest Pavilion? It's because of my connections."

Truth be told, I hadn't planned on coming to this reunion at all.

I had no desire to see Alberta, and I didn't exactly run in the same circles as these former classmates. There was no point forcing it.

But Brett Lane had called me twenty-eight times, swearing Alberta wouldn't show up.

He'd promised no one would flaunt their status—that it was purely about catching up.

Yet here Alberta was, not only present but parading her success for everyone to see.

A gold-digger playing socialite.

Pathetic.

But the self-styled socialite wasn't done with me. She pressed on, relentless:

"Mike Finch, there's a limit to how much you can bullshit. My husband booked this Emperor Suite with his VIP membership. What does that have to do with you?"

"Look at yourself—delivery boy outfit, loafers. If you weren't riding our coattails, would you even be allowed in a place this upscale?"

Her words drew a wave of laughter. The looks people shot me now carried open contempt.

I waved it off, a cold smile playing at my lips.

"So what you're saying is... I should be grateful to be here with you people?"

Alberta scoffed and gestured at the spread on the table.

"Obviously."

"Without me, could you afford this abalone? This lobster? This Moutai?"

I lifted my head slowly, the corner of my mouth curling upward.

"Alberta, you really haven't seen much of the world, have you?"

"This meal? At my house, this is what we feed the help. I wouldn't touch it."

The room burst into another round of mockery.

"Mike, I'm begging you to stop embarrassing yourself. You're bottom-tier—without Alberta, you couldn't even get through the front door!"

"Exactly! If she hadn't specifically asked us to invite you, I wouldn't have bothered calling!"

"Just down three glasses and apologize to her already. At least you'll get some free Moutai out of it!"

The jeers came from every direction.

I didn't hear a single one.

Because everything I said was the truth.

If I hadn't wanted to spare my old classmates some embarrassment, I would have told them long ago that Pinecrest Pavilion was my property.

Seeing my silence, Alberta walked over with her wine glass and stopped in front of me.

"Do you know why I dumped you back then?" She tilted her head, lips curling. "A man with no power shouldn't pretend to be something he's not."

She thrust the glass toward me. "Drink this, and I'll pretend none of this ever happened."

I rose slowly, meeting her gaze head-on.

"Alberta." My voice was quiet. "I showed you a little courtesy, and you actually think I'm still that lovesick nobody who would've done anything for you four years ago?"

Without breaking eye contact, I called toward the door:

"Waiter—bring me the menu."

I let the words land.

"Tonight, the entire bill is on me."

The room went still.

A man in a tailored suit stepped through the doorway and stopped before me, hands clasped, posture deferential. It was Chester Bell, the floor manager of Pinecrest Pavilion. I'd met him once before, when I'd arranged this private room.

I kept my eyes on Alberta, but my words were for him.

"Your hidden menu. I want one of everything."

"And two bottles of Hennessy. The best you have."

Chester said nothing. He simply nodded and withdrew.

The silence stretched. Everyone had frozen mid-motion—even Alberta, her eyes wide as saucers.

Then she doubled over laughing.

"Oh my God." She wiped at her eyes. "You really can't help yourself, can you? A hidden menu? My husband and I have been here at least ten times—there's no such thing." She straightened, smirking. "If you're going to lie, at least make it believable."

The others exchanged glances, then turned to stare at me.

I could see it in their faces. They were waiting for me to crash and burn.

To them, I was still the same broke fool Alberta had thrown away like garbage.

Back then, I'd fought with my father over her—cut myself off from my family, ended up penniless, delivering takeout just to survive. I'd worked myself to the bone to pay off the $100,000 in online loans she'd racked up.

And the moment I did? She climbed into Francis Pruitt's bed.

I'd gone home after that. Took over the family business. Swore I'd never see Alberta Fox again.

Yet here I was at a class reunion, face to face with the gold-digging traitor who'd gutted me—while she publicly humiliated me, dragging up the debt I'd paid for her, grinding my dignity into the floor in front of everyone.

This I would not swallow.

"Just because you've never seen it," I said coolly, "doesn't mean it doesn't exist. It just means you weren't important enough."

I let a beat pass.

"I'd save my breath if I were you. When the food arrives, you're going to wish you had."

"Mike Finch, you—!"

Before she could finish, the doors swung open again.

Dish after dish flowed into the room—dozens of them, each one exquisite, each one drawing gasps as they were arranged across the table.

Chester followed, cradling two bottles of limited-edition Hennessy. He addressed the room with a slight bow.

"The owner wishes me to convey that everyone here tonight is an honored guest."

He paused.

"Your bill has been waived. Compliments of the house."

I gave a small, satisfied nod. The owner of Pinecrest Pavilion certainly knew how to play the game. A single meal to curry favor with the son of Harbor City's wealthiest man? A bargain, really.

"Please thank your boss for his generosity. Tell him—"

Alberta's hand shot up, cutting me off.

"Excuse me?" She shouldered past me. "Who asked you to speak?"

She positioned herself in front of Chester, chin lifted.

"The owner obviously did this for my husband's sake. Francis Pruitt? You've heard of him." She tossed her hair. "So stop acting like you matter here."

She snatched a glass from the table and raised it toward Chester.

"I'll thank Mr. Cross on my husband's behalf. This one's for him."

She drained the glass in one go.

"Once Francis finishes up his business this week, we'll personally pay Mr. Cross a visit to express our gratitude."

As Alberta set down the empty glass, a strange expression crept across Chester Bell's face.

Confusion. Then something close to pity.

He opened his mouth to say something, but a single look from me shut him down.

I grabbed my jacket from the back of the chair and turned to face the room.

"Something came up. I'm heading out. Enjoy the rest of your evening."

I paused at the door, glancing back at Brett. "Oh, and class rep? Don't bother inviting me to these little gatherings anymore."

I couldn't stomach another second of this.

Alberta's insufferable posturing made my skin crawl. But I wasn't about to waste my breath calling her out. This dinner—the social niceties, the face I'd saved for her—consider it my parting gift.

But as I passed her, she grabbed my arm.

"Mike." Her voice was saccharine. "Forgetting something?"

"What?"

"Your bill."

I stuck a finger in my ear, certain I'd misheard. "Alberta, did you hit your head on the way here?"

"They just said the whole tab is comped. What exactly am I paying for?"

She let out a cold, brittle laugh, her eyes dripping with contempt.

"It's comped because my husband has pull here. What does that have to do with you?"

She released my arm and sauntered toward the door, ripping the itemized receipt off the wall with a theatrical flourish.

"Tonight's total? Eight hundred thousand dollars. Twenty classmates. That's forty thousand each."

She turned, waving the paper at me like a verdict.

"I've covered everyone's share. Except yours."

"Forty thousand. Cash or card?"

Chester stepped forward quickly, clearing his throat. "Miss, about tonight's bill—"

I raised a hand, gently pulling him behind me, and leaned in close to Alberta.

"You're really set on making this difficult, aren't you?"

She tilted her chin up, eyes glittering with malice. "Absolutely."

"I was trying to be generous. For old times' sake. Letting you taste how the other half lives." Her lip curled. "But you just couldn't help yourself, could you? Had to act like you belonged."

She stepped closer, her perfume cloying.

"So now I'm going to teach you a lesson. Make you understand exactly what you are."

I didn't flinch. Didn't raise my voice.

I laughed.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Alberta, but we're nothing alike. I know exactly where I stand." I met her gaze, letting the smile fade. "You're the one who's confused."

The table erupted.

"Mike, seriously? You're still running your mouth?" One of the guys shook his head in disgust. "Looking down on Alberta? If you had any real money, you think she would've dumped your dead weight?"

"Her husband's worth hundreds of millions," another chimed in. "Your entire net worth probably wouldn't cover the change in his pocket."

"He's delusional. A clown playing pretend." Someone snickered. "If he actually tries to pay, nobody lend him a cent, got it?"

I ran my tongue across my teeth, then slowly turned to survey the room.

"Fascinating commentary, really. But here's the thing—I don't just look down on Alberta."

I let my gaze sweep across every face.

"I look down on all of you."

The room went dead silent.

"Because everyone at this table? You're garbage."

I don't do much socializing. But I understand basic decency.

From the moment I sat down, not one of these so-called classmates had mentioned a single genuine memory. Not one shared laugh from the old days. Instead, they'd spent the entire evening fawning over Alberta like trained seals.

People this shallow, this transactional—why should I bother saving their face?

The silence shattered. I became the target of every voice in the room.

Brett shot to his feet, slamming his palm on the table. "Mike Finch! Someone like you doesn't deserve to sit at the same table as us!" His face was mottled with rage. "Pay your bill and get the hell out!"

Alberta watched the chaos unfold, her smile deepening with every insult hurled my way.

She reached for a bottle of limited-edition Hennessy and poured ten glasses, filling each one to the brim.

"Mike." Her voice was honey laced with venom. "I understand that forty thousand is a lot to ask from a delivery boy."