Chris balanced the tray in his hand, carefully placing a fresh glass of champagne on a nearby table before moving to clear the empty ones. He could feel the weight of the evening pressing down—golden lights, whispered deals, and the suffocating arrogance that filled the room.
And then, the air shifted.
Damian Kingsley was approaching.
Chris didn't acknowledge him at first, but the momentary hush in the surrounding conversations told him others had noticed. The spoiled heir of the Kingsley family was never one to ignore an opportunity to flaunt his status.
Chris had barely set down an empty glass when a voice dripped with amusement reached his ears.
"Well, well. Didn't expect to see you here… working."
Chris turned his head slightly, meeting Damian's smirk with an unreadable expression. The room had subtly adjusted, the elites pausing their conversations just enough to listen.
Damian took another step forward, his expensive cologne lingering in the air. "Didn't know you were into catering, Chris. Is this what you do in your free time? Serve people like me?"
A few chuckles rippled through the crowd. Chris remained silent, his face impassive. He had dealt with men like Damian before—entitled, arrogant, desperate to feel superior.
Ethan, from his position near the investors, tensed slightly but didn't intervene. He knew better. This was Chris's game to play.
Skylar, still standing nearby, frowned, her eyes darting between Chris and Damian. She didn't like the attention being drawn to him.
Damian, emboldened by the lack of response, scoffed. "I have to say, it's kind of pathetic. You sit in the same classes as us, but at the end of the day, you're just another nobody trying to make ends meet. Do you even have a future, or are you planning on being a waiter for the rest of your life?"
A murmur swept through the spectators. A few guests smirked, entertained. Others watched with curiosity, waiting to see how the "worker" would react.
Chris exhaled slowly, finally turning fully to face Damian. His posture was relaxed, his expression unreadable, but there was a glint in his eyes—something dangerous, something unseen by those who only looked at surface appearances.
Then, he smiled.
"Well, someone has to serve people like you, right?" His voice was calm, uninterested, yet every word carried a weight Damian failed to recognize. "Though, between us, I'd say I have more control over your life than you do."
Damian's smirk faltered.
There was something unsettling about Chris's tone. He had expected defensiveness, maybe even humiliation—but not this. Not the quiet confidence of a man who knew something no one else did.
Chris tilted his head slightly, his voice lower now, just enough for Damian to hear. "Careful who you try to look down on, Kingsley. You never know whose hands are holding the strings."
Ethan chuckled under his breath, barely concealing his amusement.
Damian clenched his jaw, clearly annoyed that his attempt to humiliate Chris had somehow backfired. But before he could say anything else, Skylar stepped in.
"That's enough," she said firmly, placing a hand on Damian's arm. "Let's go."
Damian hesitated but relented, though not without a final glare in Chris's direction. "Tch. Stay in your place."
With that, he let Skylar pull him away, but the mood in the room had shifted. The onlookers had expected a public humiliation. Instead, they were left with a strange sense of unease—like something was off, something they couldn't quite place.
Chris, expression unreadable, picked up his tray again and walked away.
Because in the end, Damian Kingsley was nothing m
ore than a pawn.
And the real king had already won.