The gala was in full swing, but for the Lin family, it was a battlefield.
"Look at her," Rachel whispered, her eyes fixed on Diana Song at the head table. "She holds the power to save our family with a single signature. And we can't even get close enough to hand her a business card."
"That's because you're standing around!" Oliver Lin snapped, smoothing his designer jacket. "Watch a professional. I've spent the last month researching her. She doesn't like flattery; she likes results. I'm going in."
Oliver grabbed two flutes of the most expensive vintage champagne and began weaving through the crowd. He shoved past a few smaller business owners, his eyes locked on Diana.
Meanwhile, in the back corner, Ethan sat quietly. The contrast was stark. While everyone else was sweating and scrambling to network, he looked like a man watching a movie.
A waiter approached Ethan's small, isolated table. Unlike the other waiters who had been ignoring the "poor relative," this man was the head captain of the hotel staff. He bowed low, his voice barely a whisper.
"Young Master, Manager Chen has sent the 'Jasmine Pearl' as requested. It was harvested this morning and flown in from the southern peaks. Shall I serve it now?"
"Wait," Ethan said, his eyes tracking Diana Song. "She looks tired. The incense they're burning in this hall is too heavy for her. When she starts rubbing her left temple, that's when you bring it."
The waiter nodded, looking at Ethan with newfound awe. How did this man, treated like trash by the Lin family, know the personal habits of the Iron Empress?
At the front of the room, Oliver had finally reached the inner circle.
"Ms. Song!" Oliver beamed, offering a glass. "I am Oliver Lin, Director of the Lin Group. We've been following your recent acquisition of the Southern Port, and I have a strategy that could increase your efficiency by fifteen percent—"
Diana didn't even turn her head. Her assistant, a sharp-eyed woman named Nina, stepped forward and blocked Oliver's path.
"Mr. Lin, Ms. Song is here for a private event, not a pitch meeting. Please return to your seat."
"But... I have the data right here!" Oliver persisted, his face turning a blotchy red as he noticed other guests whispering.
"We are the premier logistics firm in Riverview!"
Diana finally looked at him. Her gaze was like a shard of ice. "I know who the Lin Group is. You are the family that is currently three months behind on your warehouse leases, correct? I don't partner with companies that can't manage their own backyard."
A ripple of laughter went through the nearby tables. Oliver stood frozen, the champagne glasses trembling in his hands. He had never been so publicly humiliated.
Diana sighed, leaning back. The lights and the thick perfume of the socialites were giving her a pounding headache—a lingering sensitivity from the drug she had been given five years ago. She reached up and rubbed her left temple.
Right on cue, the head waiter appeared. But he didn't go to Diana. He walked to the back of the room, picked up a porcelain cup from Ethan's table, and then walked it all the way to the head table.
The room watched in confusion. Who was the tea for?
"Ms. Song," the waiter said, placing the steaming cup in front of her. "A gentleman thought the atmosphere was a bit too heavy for you. This is Jasmine Pearl, brewed at exactly eighty-two degrees."
The aroma hit Diana instantly. It wasn't just tea; it was a specific blend, one that had a cooling effect on the nerves. It was the exact scent she used in her private office to calm her migraines.
She took a sip, and the tension in her brow vanished. "Who sent this?"
The waiter gestured vaguely toward the back. "A guest who prefers to remain anonymous."
Diana followed his gaze. In the shadows near the East pillar, she saw him again. He wasn't looking at her anymore; he was looking at his phone, his profile sharp and composed.
It has to be him, she thought, her heart thumping against her ribs. The tea, the scent, the timing... but why is he sitting in the 'trash' section?
Oliver, desperate to recover his pride, saw the waiter come from the back of the room. He didn't see who sent it, but he saw an opportunity.
"See?" Oliver shouted, pointing at the tea. "Even the hotel staff knows Ms. Song needs better service! Hey, you!" He barked at a passing waiter. "Why didn't you bring me that tea earlier? I'm at Table 12!"
"Oliver, sit down!" Rachel hissed, pulling his arm. "You're making a scene!"
"No! I'm a VIP!" Oliver turned his rage toward Ethan, who was the closest target. "Ethan! You! Since you're sitting back here doing nothing, get up and go to the kitchen. Tell them I want a bottle of whatever tea that is for our table! Now!"
The room went quiet. All eyes turned to the man in the cheap suit.
Ethan slowly stood up. He didn't look angry. He looked... bored.
"The tea isn't on the menu, Oliver," Ethan said, his voice carrying through the silent hall. "And even if it were, you couldn't afford a single leaf."
"What did you say to me?" Oliver roared, stepping toward him. "You're a live-in dog! I'll have you thrown out of the Lin family tonight!"
"Enough!"
The voice didn't come from the Lin family. It came from the head table.
Diana Song had stood up. She walked down the steps, her silk gown trailing behind her like a queen's robe. She ignored the wealthy CEOs and the city officials. She walked straight past the stunned Rachel and the terrified Oliver.
She stopped right in front of Ethan.
The entire ballroom held its breath. Rachel's heart stopped. Does Diana Song know my husband?
Diana looked at Ethan, her eyes searching his face for the boy she remembered from the rain. "The tea," she whispered, her voice too low for the others to hear. "Why Jasmine Pearl?"
Ethan looked her in the eye, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. "Because it's better than the tap water in a forty-dollar motel room."
Diana's breath hitched. It was him.