"Ah! Mr. Vance! What a coincidence!"

It was Edgar Vance, manager of the hotel's Food and Beverage Department.

Mike turned to his colleagues, puffing himself up. "See that? That's one of the hotel's top executives! We go way back—tight as brothers! With just a word from me, getting fifty percent off tonight's bill is nothing!"

A chorus of admiration rippled through the group as his coworkers praised his connections and clout.

Basked in their flattery, Mike practically floated, completely missing the way Edgar looked at him—as if he were unhinged.

Edgar was just about to lose his temper when his gaze swept over to me.

I lifted a hand slightly, signaling stay calm, then pointed at Mike… and tapped my temple.

A seasoned professional, Edgar understood instantly.

He swallowed whatever reprimand he'd been about to deliver and replaced it with a polished, professional smile. "Since you insist, we'll make sure everyone enjoys themselves tonight."

Hearing that, Mike grew even more smug, his nose practically pointing at the ceiling.

"Did you hear that? That's influence! That's status!"

He shot me a provocative glance. "Jennifer, see the gap between us? Someone like you will spend your whole life eating other people's leftovers!"

Mike truly believed he'd secured a golden pass. The moment he stepped into the private room, he completely let himself go.

"Waiter! Bring out everything expensive on the menu—Australian lobster, foie gras, bouillabaisse, black truffles—serve them all!

"As for drinks? Beer? Are you kidding? We've got female colleagues here tonight. Open two bottles of '82 Lafite! And that Macallan M Black Decanter—bring us two, just to rinse our mouths!"

The server hesitated, instinctively glancing toward me, who was standing quietly by the door.

Leaning against the frame, I gave a blank nod.

If he dared to order, we would dare to serve it. After all, I wouldn't be the one paying.

Round after round of drinks, course after course of dishes. Mike's face flushed deep red as he drank himself into a haze. His tie hung crooked, one foot planted on a chair as he grandly held court.

"I'm telling you—what matters in life is vision! Take Jennifer, for example. Tsk, tsk—textbook low-class mindset! For a few scraps of meat, she threw away all dignity! Unlike how my mother raised me! When a man spends money, he does it with style!"

A female colleague beside him chimed in flatteringly, "Exactly, Mike! How could a woman like that ever be worthy of you? She's not even fit to carry your shoes!"

Mike burst into laughter. "Carry my shoes? She'd have to get in line first!

"If it weren't for the fact that she's somewhat good-looking, I might've had a little fun. Who knew she was a brainless pauper? Good thing I got out fast—otherwise, once someone like that sticks to you, you can't shake her off!"

Standing in the shadows, I listened as they twisted the story with every venomous word they could muster.

In their telling, I'd become a desperate, scheming woman willing to do anything to marry into wealth—even stalking an ex.

My fists clenched. But I held back. The higher they lifted him now, the harder he would fall later.

At last, it was time to settle the bill.

A server walked in, holding a long receipt, and said with a polite smile, "Sir, your total comes to 188,800 dollars."

The private room fell silent.

The once-rowdy crowd now looked like ducks with their throats clamped shut.

Half of Mike's drunkenness evaporated on the spot. His eyes bulged, as if they might pop right out of their sockets.

"H-How much?!" Mike stuttered.

"188,800 dollars," the server repeated, her professional smile unwavering.

"Are you ripping me off?!" Mike shot to his feet. "It's just a few dishes—how could it cost that much?!"

"Sir, the alcohol alone account for 150,000. The Australian lobster and black truffles are also priced at market rate."

Mike's face drained of color. Cold sweat streamed down his forehead.

He wiped at it frantically, forcing himself to sound composed. "Well… I'm a friend of Mr. Vance! He said I'd get fifty percent off! No—ninety percent off!"

The server shook her head. "I'm sorry, sir. Mr. Vance did not authorize any discount. And our establishment does not offer discounts as a rule."

"Bullshit! He agreed to it right at the entrance!"

Panicking, Mike pulled out his phone and pretended to make a call. But he didn't even have Mr. Vance's number.

He jabbed at the screen a few times, muttering "Hello? Hello?" to thin air before slamming the phone onto the table in frustration.

"Damn it! Bad signal!"

By now, the expressions of his colleagues and supervisors had completely changed.

The department manager, who had been seated at the head of the table, stood up with a dark expression.

"Mike, this is your 'inside connection'? This is what you call treating us to dinner? This meal is worth half a year of our department's budget! How are we supposed to reimburse this?!"

Mike's legs began to tremble.

One hundred eighty-eight thousand… Even if he sold himself, he couldn't come up with that kind of money.

Just as he was running out of options, his gaze suddenly landed on me, standing by the door, watching the show unfold.

In that instant, a vicious gleam flashed in his eyes, as if he'd seized his last lifeline. He pointed at me and shouted, "Wait! I've got it! I'm not the one paying for this meal—she is!"

All eyes turned to me once again.

Mike rushed over like a madman, reaching out to grab my hand. I sidestepped, avoiding him.

Unfazed, he turned to his manager and colleagues and declared loudly, "Everyone, the truth is—this dinner was arranged by Jennifer as an apology to me! She felt guilty about what happened yesterday and insisted on treating everyone to make it up to me! She even wants to get back together!

"She's a… uh… regular at this hotel! She ordered all these dishes! This has nothing to do with me!"

I raised an eyebrow. I'd seen shameless people before, but never anyone this shameless.

So now he wanted to dump the bill on me?

…

"Jennifer! Say something!"

Seeing my silence, Mike assumed I was intimidated and grew even more brazen.

Step by step, he closed in, his eyes filled with threat.

"In front of everyone, stop pretending. Since this is your way of making it up to me, I'll reluctantly accept it. As long as you pay the bill, we can still talk about us."

The surrounding colleagues began whispering among themselves.

Some found the situation absurd, but faced with an 188,800 dollar bill, no one wanted to be the one left holding the bag. Since someone was willing to take the fall, they were more than happy to go along with it.

Someone even chimed in, "Oh, so it's just a lovers' quarrel? Miss, if you want to apologize, you should do it properly—don't put Mike in an awkward spot."

I looked at their ugly expressions and spoke coldly, "Mike, if you're suffering from delusions, go get treatment. You ordered this meal yourself—what does it have to do with me? We deleted each other's contacts yesterday."

"You—!"

Mike clearly hadn't expected me to call him out in public. Furious and flustered, he snapped.

"Jennifer, don't push your luck! Who was it that cried yesterday, begging me not to break up? Who said you'd do anything as long as I wasn't mad?"

He started spewing nonsense, trying to drown out the truth with sheer volume.

"You're just jealous—jealous that I've got a good job and great connections! You set this up on purpose to make me look bad, didn't you?!"

The commotion had grown loud enough to draw a crowd.

At that moment, a shrill voice cut through the noise.

"Which shameless vixen is bullying my son?!"

The crowd parted automatically.

An older woman in gaudy, mismatched clothes, her hair permed into a wild, frizzy halo, stormed in. She had probably heard her son was hosting a dinner here and came to mooch a free meal—and maybe take some leftovers home.

The moment she saw the scene, she didn't hesitate. She lunged straight at me, claws out, aiming for my face.

"So it's you again, you jinx! Wasn't it enough to scam my son out of a meal yesterday? Now you've chased him all the way here to extort more money?!"

I stepped back, dodging her grimy hands.

Missing her strike, Mike's mother dropped to the floor and began wailing, slapping her thighs in dramatic despair.

"This is outrageous! Bullying honest people like this! Everyone, come look! This woman is so desperate for a man she won't leave my son alone—and now she's trying to extort 188,800 from us! What did our family ever do to deserve meeting a bloodsucker like this?!"

Her shameless performance ignited the crowd instantly. Bystanders who had no idea what was going on began pointing at me and hurling accusations.

"So young, and already pulling scams like this?"

"She looks so innocent—who knew she'd be this scheming?"

"Someone should call the police on women like her!"

With reinforcements at his side, Mike straightened his back, his confidence instantly restored.

Helping his mother up, he fixed me with a vicious stare.

"Jennifer, you see how things stand now. Either you pay the bill like a good girl, and I'll pretend none of this ever happened… Or…"

He grabbed a bucket—filled with leftover scraps, cigarette butts, and spit. The stench of rancid food was nauseating.

Holding the bowl, he stepped toward me, a twisted grin spreading across his face.

"Don't you love packing leftovers? As long as you lick this entire bowl clean, right here in front of everyone—every last drop—I'll admit this meal was on me. I'll figure out the 188,800 myself. You won't have to pay a cent. Well? Sounds like a pretty good deal, doesn't it?"

Silence fell over the room.

Beside him, his mother clapped her hands in delight. "Yes! Make her eat it! Trash like her deserves pig feed!"

Mike shoved the bowl right under my nose. The sour stench shot straight to my head.

"Eat! If you don't, it means you've got something to hide! If you don't eat, then you pay!"

With a flick of his wrist, he made a move as if to dump the filthy contents over my head.

"If you won't eat it, then I'll feed it to you—"

At that critical moment, the door burst open.

"Stop!"