Chapter 131 The Billionaire’s Wine
The private dining room felt almost too warm.
Wesley had just finished laying out his offer. One year. An open door. Absolutely no pressure attached.
Veyra sat back in her chair and looked across at him. When she spoke, her voice was quiet, barely carrying over the quiet hum of the air conditioner. "Thank you."
Wesley tilted his head, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "For what?"
"For understanding," she said, leaning forward slightly. "For not pushing me into a corner. For giving me time to think."
Wesley shrugged, casually swirling the empty glass in his hand. "I’m a patient man, Veyra."
"Most people aren’t."
"Well," he said with a small grin, "most people aren’t me."
A small smile tugged at the corner of Veyra’s lips. It wasn’t big, but it was real. "I appreciate it," she admitted, rubbing her thumbs together in her lap. "I really do."
Wesley waved a dismissive hand in the air. "Don’t mention it. Let’s get down to the important stuff." He turned toward the waiter standing near the doorway. "Let’s eat. I’m starving."
The waiter bowed his head, ready to head back toward the kitchen, but before anyone could move, Dorian stood up.
Veyra’s head snapped toward him. He was still standing right beside her, and as he shifted his weight, she felt a sudden tug on her arm. Her eyes dropped down. She was still gripping his sleeve. In fact, she had been holding onto him for the past ten minutes without even realizing it.
She blinked, her fingers loosening instantly as if his coat had suddenly caught fire.
"I have to go," Dorian said.
Veyra looked up at him, her eyebrows drawing together. "You’re leaving already?"
"I have work to finish."
"Right now?"
"Yes."
His voice was dead flat, completely stripped of any emotion. His expression was just as calm, completely unreadable as he gently pulled his arm fully out of her reach.
Veyra’s hand dropped limp to her side, resting awkwardly on her thigh. She couldn’t believe she had been clinging to him the entire time they were talking. Her cheeks started to burn, the heat spreading fast up to her ears.
"I’m sorry," she stammered, looking away for a second. "I didn’t mean to drag you into that—I was just..."
"Acting," Dorian interrupted smoothly. His voice stayed low, almost a whisper. "You were acting."
"Right!" She nodded a little too fast, desperate to cover the sudden awkwardness hanging in the air. "Exactly. Acting. Just keeping up appearances for the sake of the performance."
Dorian didn’t answer. His face remained a wall of stone, and he didn’t look down at her again. Instead, his eyes fixed on the exit. Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked out of the room.
The heavy door clicked shut behind him, leaving a heavy silence in its wake.
Veyra stayed frozen in her seat, her face still burning up. Her fingers were still tingling from where she had held onto his wool jacket. She hadn’t meant to hold onto him. Honestly, she hadn’t even registered that her hand had moved on its own. It had just felt natural in the moment, which only made her feel dumber now.
A soft chuckle broke the quiet.
Veyra turned her head and saw Wesley leaning back in his chair, watching her with deep amusement. His eyes were bright, practically dancing with mischief.
"Interesting," Wesley murmured.
Veyra cleared her throat, trying to pull herself together. "What’s interesting?"
"You. Him," Wesley said, gesturing vaguely between her and the empty doorway. "The way you just panicked."
"I didn’t panic," she snapped, adjusting her napkin. "I was just caught off guard."
"You pulled your hand back like you’d just touched a hot stove."
"I was just surprised, okay?"
"At what, exactly?"
Veyra opened her mouth to give a sharp comeback, but nothing came out. She clamped her lips shut, staring at him.
Wesley laughed again, shaking his head. "I’ve known Dorian for a really long time, Veyra. I’ve never seen him stand there and let anyone hold onto his arm for that long without walking away."
The heat in Veyra’s face doubled. "He was just being polite," she insisted, trying to sound confident. "He knew we were in the middle of something."
"Polite?" Wesley raised an eyebrow. "Dorian?"
"He didn’t want to make a scene in front of you."
"Trust me, that is definitely not why he let you hold him," Wesley said, a knowing look on his face.
Veyra’s mouth opened, closed, and opened again. She was completely out of excuses, and Wesley knew it.
"He’s confused," Wesley added, picking up his fork and turning it over in his hand. "I don’t think I’ve ever seen him genuinely confused before. It’s actually pretty fun to watch."
Wesley gestured toward the center of the table, changing the subject before she could sink deeper into her chair. "Anyway, let’s eat. The wine is already breathing, and it would be a sin to let it sit too long."
Veyra sat up straight and tried to focus on the table, but her mind kept drifting back to the door, wondering what Dorian was thinking right now. She forced herself to shake it off. She had bigger things to worry about than a cold guy who couldn’t stand being touched.
The waiter returned, quietly setting down plates of food before leaning over to fill their glasses. The liquid poured out thick and dark, a rich ruby red that caught the warm light of the room.
Veyra leaned in slightly, staring at the glass as the waiter stepped back.
She remembered the price tag Wesley had casually tossed around earlier. Over a million for a single bottle. When she first heard it, she thought it was a joke, or at least a massive exaggeration. But sitting here, looking at the dark red liquid resting in crystal glass, the reality hit her.
"This is the really expensive one, isn’t it?" she asked softly.
Wesley nodded, leaning his elbows on the table. "The Romanée-Conti. 1990."
"One million," she repeated, just to hear how absurd it sounded.
"A little more than that, actually, depending on the auction," he corrected casually.
Veyra stared down at her hands. She had held plenty of things in her life, but she had never held something that cost as much as a nice apartment just to drink it.
"I feel like I shouldn’t even touch it," she admitted. "Or at least drink it super slowly so I don’t waste a single cent."
Wesley burst out laughing. "Drink it however you want, Veyra. At the end of the day, it’s just liquid."
"It’s not just liquid," she argued, pointing a finger at the glass. "It’s a literal fortune in a glass."
"It’s a fortune if you’re trying to sell it," Wesley countered smoothly. "If it’s sitting on this table, its only job is to be tasted. Otherwise, it’s useless."
Veyra shook her head, letting out a small, tired laugh. "I swear, I am never going to understand how rich people think."
Still, curiosity got the better of her. She reached out, her fingers wrapping carefully around the thin stem of the glass. She lifted it slowly, bringing it up to her nose first. The scent was deep and fruity, unlike anything she had smelled before. Slowly, she brought the rim to her lips and took a small sip.
The moment the wine touched her tongue, her eyes widened.
It was unbelievably smooth. There was no sharp bite, no bitter aftertaste, no harsh burn in the back of her throat. It just glided over her mouth, rich and full.
She took a slightly bigger sip, letting her eyes close as she swallowed.
This wasn’t like the cheap five-dollar bottles she used to split with her ex-husband, praying it wouldn’t give them a migraine the next morning. It wasn’t even like the decent stuff she bought when she finally had a little extra cash in her bank account. This was an entirely different world.
She opened her eyes, looking down at the glass with newfound respect. "Okay... that is actually incredible."
Wesley grinned, looking pleased with her reaction. "Better than what you usually have?"
"It’s not even on the same planet," she admitted.
She took another small sip, letting the taste linger on her tongue. As she sat there savoring it, her mind naturally started tracking back to the price tag. One million. Think about how many years went into making this single bottle. Think about the land, the labor, the history, and the ridiculous amount of money people were willing to throw away just to taste it.
There was a massive, hidden world of wealth out there, a world full of power and shortcuts that she had barely ever brushed up against. And standing on the outside looking in was starting to annoy her.
Her thoughts began to spin faster, pulling her away from the dinner table.
She started thinking about SN1818. Sure, the project was promising, but the actual launch was still months away. Months of waiting around. Months of grinding through endless piles of boring paperwork. Months of sitting on her hands, waiting for a payoff that might take forever to land in her account.
She couldn’t afford to just sit there and wait for things to happen to her. She needed money now. Real money. Cash flow, resources, and the freedom that came with it.
Her mind flicked back to Wesley’s offer from earlier. The vice leader position. The instant authority. The massive network. The sheer amount of cash flowing through his hands.
She had turned it down, of course. She had chosen to stick with Xavier Lala and build her own path from scratch. She didn’t regret that choice, but looking at this glass of wine made one thing very clear: her current path was moving way too slow. She needed to find other ways to make money, and she needed to find them fast.
Her brain was working in overdrive now, connecting dots and chasing wild ideas.
Absorbed in her own head, she lifted the glass and took another generous gulp of the million-dollar wine.
She held the dark liquid in her mouth, but right as she was about to swallow, a sudden, sharp realization hit her like a lightning bolt. An idea clicked into place so hard that her throat locked up instantly.
She couldn’t swallow.
Without warning, Veyra leaned forward, covered her mouth, and spat the mouthful of expensive wine right back into her glass with a wet splash.
Wesley froze, his fork halfway to his mouth. He stared at her in utter shock, his eyes wide as he looked from her flushed face down to the contaminated, million-dollar glass of wine.
"What in the world are you doing?" he asked, his voice a mix of total confusion and disbelief.
Veyra set the glass down on the tablecloth with a sharp clink. Her face was red and her chest was heaving slightly.