After listing everything currently in stock and on the menu, David glanced between them once more, his expression carefully neutral.
"Get the bucket of champagne," Travis decided, then turned to Eveline with exaggerated affection. "Is that enough? You want something else?"
His hand grazed her cheek in a gesture that was clearly meant for David's benefit.
"No, it's alright," Eveline smiled back at him, though something in her expression seemed forced.
Travis leaned forward and kissed her, slowly, deliberately. His intentions were obvious now. This entire charade—requesting David specifically, the public displays of affection—it was all calculated. Travis wanted to mock him, to push him to his absolute limits and see how he would react.
David remembered the argument they'd had once, back when things were different. He'd told Travis that even if he wasn't wealthy, at least he had someone who cared about him genuinely—someone who wasn't with him for the money, who actually loved him. And now here he was, staring at that same girl in the arms of his worst enemy.
"Come on, get going," Travis said, waving him off dismissively. "I don't have all night."
David bowed stiffly and left the booth.
It had been four months since Eveline left him for Travis. Four months, and it still hurt. Not in the way it used to—he didn't love her anymore, or at least he'd successfully convinced himself of that. But the betrayal remained, sharp and fresh. Whenever he looked at her, all he felt was contempt. He hated her as much as he hated Travis and his uncle, Travis's father who had always looked down on David's side of the family.
A few minutes later, David returned with a small silver ice bucket containing the champagne. Condensation beaded on the metal surface.
"Over there," Travis said, gesturing to the table.
David placed it down carefully and straightened. "If that will be all, I'll be taking my leave."
He turned to go, but Travis's voice stopped him.
"I don't like how you're acting toward my fiancée."
David froze.
"It's like you're holding a grudge against her," Travis continued, his tone casual but laced with menace. "Don't workers smile around here?"
David didn't look at Eveline. "I apologize if my behavior was not satisfactory," he said, the words coming out almost scripted.
But Travis wasn't satisfied with that.
"No, that won't do," he said with a sneer.
"Travis, it's okay," Eveline interjected, her voice tight. "Just let it go."
Travis ignored her completely. "No. He's just an ordinary worker here—probably the lowest ranked and paid. It should be an honor to serve a VIP booth, yet he's all arrogant. Such an ungrateful thing."
He leaned forward, eyes locked on David.
"Apologize," he ordered.
David finally looked at Eveline. Her expression was complicated—guilt, discomfort, shame, all tangled together.
"I'm sorry for my behavior if it upset you," David said quietly. "Please forgive me."
"I—" Eveline started, but Travis cut her off.
"No, no, no, no, no." Travis shook his head, clearly enjoying himself. "There's no sincerity in that apology. Give it some life. Get down on your knees and beg for her forgiveness. And mine too, for being an arrogant prick even when you're so dirt poor."
"Travis! That's too much," Eveline protested, but Travis silenced her with a kiss, which she didn't resist.
"Let me handle this, babe," he said smoothly, then turned back to David with gleaming eyes. "In fact, while you beg on your knees, you have to kiss our feet and beg earnestly. If not, then you can say goodbye to your job at this club."
The threat hung in the air.
David stared at Travis. Then at Eveline, who bit her lip, looking conflicted but saying nothing. Doing nothing.
Something inside David snapped.
"Go screw yourselves."
The words came out cold and clear.
He'd had enough. Enough of taking it with a smile like he had no self-respect whatsoever. Enough of swallowing his pride, his anger, his humanity, all for what? Money? For tuition he'd never be able to afford anyway?
The only reason he'd been going through all of this in the first place was because he desperately needed money for his school fees. Suffering endless humiliation solely because he wanted to complete his education, to earn enough to pay his tuition.
But now, standing in this booth with Travis's smug face and Eveline's cowardly silence, he finally realized something: he was being an idiot.
There was no way he was going to earn enough to pay for it. Even if he worked himself to death for the next two years, it would never be enough. He was living in a fantasy. Things were actively working against him, trying to frustrate him no matter what he did. It was no longer a matter of hard work—it was the fact that the way he was going about it was never going to work. He would only keep losing, remaining at the lowest possible point in life.
It felt like the world was against him.
First was losing his scholarship for whatever reason—it clearly wasn't a mistake or ordinary bureaucracy. Then constantly getting fired from jobs no matter how much effort he put in. Nothing was working, and he had finally reached his limit. The limit of holding it all together, of trying to endure everything, of sucking up to people he wanted wholeheartedly to beat into the ground.
He was done.
David walked out of the booth with what little self-control he had left, his hands trembling with suppressed rage. Behind him, he could hear Travis laughing—another humiliation added to the countless others he'd suffered at the hands of so many people, his own cousin especially.
He'd never understood why Travis detested him so much. But it didn't matter anymore.
David headed for the restroom, shoving the door open and slamming it shut behind him. He went straight to one of the sinks and turned on the tap. Water gushed out, and he splashed it repeatedly on his face, trying to cool the fire burning in his chest.
Then he slammed his fist down on the porcelain sink.
He stared at his reflection in the mirror. Water dripped from his face, his eyes red-rimmed and wild.
"I'm done," he told himself.
Every single torment, humiliation, suffering, and pain he'd ever had to endure—except for the death of his parents—was all because he lacked money. That was the root of everything. Money.
"I'm going to make it," he said to his reflection. "One way or another. You'll all pay."
But even as he said it, reality crashed back down on him. It was no use. No matter what he did, he was never going to gather the money required for tuition. It was too exorbitant—about two thousand dollars, excluding accommodation and other fees. He had barely three hundred dollars in his account. Unless he stole the money, there was no way he was going to make that much.
So he decided on something else instead.
He was going to enact his million-dollar plan. A plan he'd always had since he was eighteen. A plan to become one of the wealthiest people in the world.
He was done being nice. Done trying the orthodox way. Done being an object of ridicule. Done with the insults and outright condescension.
The only way things were going to turn around was if he took a drastic move—something that was either going to make him...
Or break him.
His reflection stared back at him, water still dripping from his chin, eyes hard with newfound resolve.
Whatever came next, David knew one thing for certain: he would never kneel again.