Chapter 27: Party Pooper (Part - 2)
Roy just smirked, soaking in the endless praise, while Chloe sat on his lap.
This Chloe was not to be confused with Nurse Chloe, who had recently been caught giving a blowjob to Doctor Vance’s fiance.
No, this Chloe was actually Emily’s biggest rival for Roy’s affection, and tonight, she was squeezed into a skintight, backless black dress that barely covered her ass.
She didn’t care that ten people were watching. She only cared if Roy was enjoying.
She had her arms wrapped tightly around Roy’s neck, giggling loudly as she pressed her breasts against his chest.
"You are so amazing, Roy," Chloe purred, leaning in to bite his earlobe, "I can’t believe you managed to book this room. I heard there’s a six-month waiting list just to get on this floor."
"Who do you think I am?" Roy let out an arrogant chuckle, as he grabbed a thick handful of her bleached-blonde hair and yanked her head back roughly. He didn’t treat her with any respect. He treated her exactly like the cheap plaything she was.
"Ouch! Roy, that hurts," Chloe gasped, though a dirty smile remained on her lips.
"Shut up and open your mouth," Roy ordered crudely.
Chloe obeyed instantly. Roy poured a splash of his expensive liquor directly into her mouth. She swallowed it eagerly, coughing slightly as it burned her throat.
But Roy didn’t stop there.
He shoved his hand roughly down the front of her low-cut dress, grabbing one of her heavy breasts.
He squeezed the soft flesh hard, right in front of everyone at the table. His other hand slid up her bare thigh, slipping right under the hem of her short dress to grab her ass.
"Waiting lists are for normal people, Chloe," Roy boasted, his voice dripping with pure ego as he kneaded her breast, "When you have my kind of money and my kind of family behind, doors just open. I didn’t even have to make a phone call. I just texted the right guy."
Sitting near the middle of the table, quietly sipping her wine, was Emily.
She looked entirely out of place. She was wearing a simple sweater and tight jeans, completely underdressed compared to the way she was dressed last night.
She stared at Roy’s hand aggressively groping Chloe’s breast. A bitter, painful knot twisted violently in her stomach.
Just a few hours ago, she had been standing outside Rick’s apartment. She had practically begged him to come to this exact party with her.
She had wanted to use Rick as a shield, to show Roy that she didn’t care about his rejection.
But Rick had looked at her with dead, cold eyes. He completely ignored her existence and walked away without a second thought.
Now, she was sitting here alone, completely invisible, watching the guy she obsessed over treat a blonde bimbo like a piece of meat.
Emily forced a fake smile onto her face. She leaned forward, trying to insert herself into the conversation to get even a tiny shred of validation.
"The food is really incredible, Roy," Emily said, her voice slightly too loud, desperate for his attention, "Thank you so much for inviting us."
Roy stopped pulling Chloe’s hair. He looked down the length of the table at Emily. His eyes swept over her plain sweater with complete and utter boredom. There was zero lust, zero interest in his gaze.
"Yeah, whatever," Roy dismissed her instantly, turning his attention right back to the blonde sitting on his lap.
Emily flinched, shrinking back into her leather chair. The utter humiliation burned her cheeks. She felt like absolute trash. She took a massive gulp of her wine, staring down at her plate, wishing she could just disappear.
"So, Roy," one of the sycophants asked, leaning across the table to keep the spotlight firmly on the young master, "Who exactly did you text to get this VIP room? I heard the Peninsula is practically a fortress. Even celebrities get turned away."
"You guys think too highly of these celebrities," Roy chuckled, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.
"I know the Chairwoman’s son," Roy bragged loudly, making sure everyone was listening. "Tristan. He is a good mate of mine. His mother has I don’t know twenty maybe twenty-five percent of the shares."
"Damn!" Chloe gasped, rubbing her hands over Roy’s chest, "You really do know everyone."
"Tristan is her only son," Roy stated smugly. "When you are best friends with the future owner, you don’t pay for shit. The hospitality, the Wagyu beef, the vintage booze... It’s all completely taken care of. My word is law in this building."
"That is insane," another guy praised, "We really are drinking for free at a five-star hotel."
"I only surround myself with the absolute best," Roy said, adjusting his suit jacket. "Speaking of which, Tristan should be here by now. He texted me earlier. He said he was just dealing with some minor issue downstairs in the lobby."
Right on cue, the heavy double doors of the VIP room swung open.
"Sorry... Sorry... Sorry Roy that I am late!" a loud voice announced, and Tristan walked into the room.
The entire table went completely silent for a solid five seconds.
Tristan was wearing his loud, custom-fitted white suit, but it was no longer prim and proper.
The lapels were stained with dark spots of dried blood. A thick white bandaid was plastered over his broken nose, and his right arm was wrapped in a plaster cast.
Roy quickly stood up, his arrogant smile faltering, as he pushed Chloe off his lap.
"Tristan! Mate, what the fuck happened to you?" Roy asked, his eyes wide, "You look like you were in a brawl or something."
Tristan laughed, though the sound was slightly nasal and blocked due to his crushed nose. He walked over to the table and awkwardly pulled out a chair with his good hand. He didn’t look embarrassed. He looked completely smug.
"It’s nothing, Roy," Tristan said, waving his uninjured hand dismissively as he sat down, "Just a bit of collateral damage. Had to take care of a trash downstairs."
"Taking out the trash?" Chloe asked, leaning forward, her breasts spilling out of her dress, "Did someone attack you?"
"Attack me?" Tristan scoffed loudly, leaning back in his chair.
"Some beggar managed to sneak past the front doors into the main lobby," Tristan lied smoothly, raising his voice so the whole room could hear his fake heroism, "He was wearing these filthy, cheap clothes. Looked like a complete junkie."
"So what did you do?" One of the guys asked, completely engrossed in the story.
"I stepped up, obviously," Tristan boasted, pointing to his own chest with his good hand, "The security guards were too slow. The junkie started screaming, making a massive scene, harassing the wealthy guests. So, I walked right up to him, grabbed him by the throat, and told him to get the fuck out of my hotel."
"No way!" Chloe gasped, absolutely eating up the lie.
"Yeah," Tristan nodded confidently, warming up to his own fake story, "The rat got a lucky shot in. He swung a heavy metal pipe he had hidden in his jacket. Clipped my nose and bruised my wrist. But after that?"
Tristan slammed his good hand onto the table, making the glasses rattle.
"I absolutely destroyed him," Tristan sneered, his eyes filled with fake, aggressive malice. "He was a big guy, but I have been training in MMA. He had no chance."
"I blocked his next punch, snapped his arm like a twig, and kneed him in the stomach. I threw him to the floor and curb-stomped his face until he stopped moving."
The entire room erupted into loud cheers and applause.
"Then the security team dragged his bloody, unconscious body out into the back alley," Tristan finished, leaning back with a highly satisfied grin.
"That is my boy!" Roy laughed, raising his glass high in the air, "Taking out the absolute scum of the city with your bare hands! You are a bloody legend, Tristan!"
"It was nothing," Tristan smirked, soaking in the endless praise. He completely hid the humiliating fact that he had actually cried on the marble floor while a guy in a t-shirt brutally folded him in three seconds. "Nobody disrespects my family in this hotel. Nobody."
"Well, let’s drink to that!" Roy shouted, slamming his hand on the table, "We need to celebrate. Bring us the most expensive bottles you have left! I want more Wagyu! I want lobster!"
For the next hour, the group ordered relentlessly.
They acted like gluttonous kings. They ordered massive plates of Japanese Wagyu beef, rare truffles, and vintage wines that cost thousands of dollars a bottle. They ate, drank, and laughed loudly, thoroughly enjoying the fact that they wouldn’t have to pay a single penny for any of it.
Emily sat quietly, eating her expensive food.
She felt a brief, dark sense of satisfaction hearing that some poor guy had been beaten to a pulp in the lobby.
The world was brutal, and being around absolute winners like Roy and Tristan made her feel like she was part of the elite, even if Roy completely ignored her existence.
Eventually, the massive feast began to wind down. The table was covered in empty bottles and dirty plates.
The heavy doors of the VIP room slowly pushed open.
A young waiter in a crisp black uniform walked into the room. He looked incredibly pale. His hands were shaking visibly as he held a sleek black leather folder tightly against his chest.
Tristan noticed him and waved his good hand arrogantly, "Ah, the dessert menu. Bring it here, boy. We want to see your best."
The waiter swallowed hard. He walked slowly up to the head of the table, but he didn’t hand over a menu.
He placed the black leather folder directly on the table in front of Tristan and Roy.
Tristan frowned, his broken nose twitching. He grabbed the folder and flipped the leather cover open.
"What is this?"
"Your bill, sir."