Chapter2

"Hurry up and clear these empty glasses."

The cuff of a bespoke suit brushed against my shoulder as an impatient guest carelessly tossed a lipstick-stained champagne flute onto my silver tray. The stemware clinked sharply.

I steadied my stance and collected the glasses without a word.

This was the 120th floor of the city's landmark tower, the core venue of the Global Tech Summit. A massive crystal chandelier cascaded light across the polished marble floor, and every inch of the air reeked of capital and power. And there I stood in the shadows at the edge of the hall, wearing an ill-fitting standard service uniform.

Rumors of the Vance Group verging on bankruptcy had long spread through the inner circles. Today's summit was their last chance.

Suddenly, the crowd parted like the Red Sea.

The flashing of camera lenses instantly accelerated. Victor Sterling, heir to the city's largest financial syndicate, strode into the center of the hall with a glass in hand. The woman clinging to his arm was Elena.

She wore a dazzling dark-red evening gown today. With an impeccable smile, she carefully catered to Victor's conversation, attempting to use this intimacy to maintain the Vance family's crumbling dignity.

"Elena, is your family's 'celebrity' here today too?" Victor took a sip of his wine, his gaze piercing through the dense crowd to land flawlessly on me.

The chatter in the hall died down. Following his gaze, every eye homed in on the tray in my hands and my cheap uniform.

Elena's smile stiffened for a fraction of a second before returning to normal. She didn't even cast a glance in my direction.

Victor stepped forward, walking straight up to me. He looked down at me condescendingly, his fingers idly tapping the edge of my tray.

"I've always been curious," Victor's voice wasn't loud, but it carried clearly to the surrounding media. "Does killing a few people on some outdated battlefield actually buy you so-called glory? Looking at it now, the answer is no. In civilized society, don't you still have to keep your head down and serve plates here?"

A burst of laughter erupted all around. The impeccably dressed guests made no effort to hide the disdain in their eyes, looking at me as if I were a comical museum exhibit.

The hand holding the tray didn't waver a millimeter; my knuckles didn't pale in the slightest. Three years of trained forbearance had long since turned my emotional control into precise machinery.

My silence seemed to bore Victor. He tilted his head, shooting Elena a look.

Elena took a deep breath and turned to face the media zone, which was already bristling with cameras and microphones.

"Taking advantage of today's occasion, the Vance family needs to clarify a certain matter." Her voice echoed through the vast hall via the microphones. "As of today, my engagement with Mr. Arthur is officially annulled."

Camera flashes erupted like madness, casting a deathly pallor over my face.

A lawyer in a pinstripe suit had quietly stepped up beside me. He slapped a document directly onto my tray, pinning down the empty glasses.

"Mr. Arthur, this is merely a termination letter for a temporary arrangement." The lawyer pushed up his gold-rimmed glasses, his tone dripping with bureaucratic arrogance. "Sign it, and you will sever all ties with the Vance family."

A temporary arrangement.

So, three years of swallowing my pride, of upholding my vow to Miller, amounted to nothing more in their eyes than a "temporary arrangement" to be discarded at will.

I set the tray down and took the offered fountain pen. The metal barrel felt ice-cold in my grip.

Before putting pen to paper, I finally looked up. My gaze bypassed the lawyer's shoulder and locked directly onto Elena's eyes.

"Are you sure?" My voice was low, yet it pierced through the surrounding clamor.

Elena tilted her chin up slightly, her eyes devoid of a single ripple of emotion. "Sign it. It's you who isn't fit for this world."

I didn't say another word. The nib glided across the paper, leaving a crisp, decisive signature.

Capping the pen, I shoved the document back to the lawyer and turned toward the exit.

"Halt."

Victor's voice rang out behind me. Immediately, hurried footsteps approached, and two burly security guards blocked my path.

"Clear him out." Victor waved dismissively at the guards. "Don't let a plate-carrying waiter pollute everyone's eyes."

One of the guards stepped forward, reaching out to grab my collar.

The moment his hand touched the front of my uniform, his fingers snagged the metal chain hidden beneath my collar. It was the old dog tag Miller had left behind—the only bottom line I hadn't been stripped of these past three years.

"Don't touch it."

My voice was dangerously low, carrying a grating, metallic edge.

The guard ignored the warning completely. His fingers violently wrenched, trying to rip the dog tag off.

The floodgates of my restraint shattered in that instant.

I didn't throw a punch, nor did I assume any combat stance. I merely raised my eyelids. My gaze, like a materialized blade, nailed directly into his pupils.

It was a physiological suppression forged in mountains of corpses and seas of blood. The temperature in the room seemed to plummet in that very second; a thick stench of blood seemingly pierced right through the perfume-laden air of the hall.

The guard's movements froze abruptly. His pupils contracted violently, his breathing turning ragged as if an invisible hand were crushing his throat. Cold sweat drenched his back instantly. A second later, his knees gave out. He collapsed to the floor like a pile of mud, meaningless gurgling sounds escaping his throat.

The laughter around us died in an instant.

"What the hell? Playing dead?" The other guard stared blankly, stepped up, and kicked his comrade before turning to explain to Victor. "This guy's mental fortitude is trash. Probably low blood sugar..."

The bystanders let out dismissive sneers, treating the scene as nothing more than a clumsy farce.

I ignored the guard on the ground and didn't spare even peripheral vision for Victor and Elena. I strode forward, walking straight through the main doors.

At the end of the corridor, the elevator doors slid open in silence.

I stepped inside, turned around, and pressed the button for the ground floor.

The two metal doors slowly closed together, completely shutting out the blinding lights, the hypocritical smiles, and the three long years of humiliation.

I was the only one left in the elevator car. The floor numbers on the digital panel began to plummet rapidly.

I lowered my head and tucked the warm dog tag back deep beneath my collar.

A three-year bond was utterly severed in this moment.

Vance family, from this moment on, your life or death is none of my concern.