The tension hung in the air like a storm cloud as the bodyguard''s face reddened at Isabelle''s question. I watched him carefully, noting how his hand twitched toward his side—a telltale sign of someone used to reaching for a weapon when challenged.


    "Miss LeRoux cannot be in the same frame as... ordinary people," he said, his eyes flicking dismissively between Isabelle and me. "It dilutes the brand image."


    I couldn''t help butugh, which only made his scowl deepen.


    "Something funny?" he demanded.


    "Just thinking about how fragile this ''brand image'' must be," I replied, taking another bite of my lobster with deliberate slowness.


    The masked woman—Vivian LeRoux—stepped forward, her perfume wafting over our table like an invasive cloud. "Castro, handle this," shemanded before turning away.


    A man in an expensive suit detached himself from the entourage. Unlike the security personnel, who had the build and stance of fighters, he was slim with manicured nails and a face that suggested he rarely heard the word "no."


    "Allow me to make this simple," Castro said, reaching into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a stack of cash and tossed it onto our table, scattering bills across our food. "Compensation for your meal and your time. Now leave."


    Isabelle''s eyes shed dangerously as a hundred-dor billnded in her wine ss. "You just ruined a three-hundred-dor bottle of wine with your hundred-dor bill," she said coolly. "Your math needs work."


    Castro''s lip curled. "Add another zero to whatever you think this meal cost. Take it and go." <samp ss="meta-ref-static">Enjoying the story? Discover more on *.</samp>


    I leaned back in my chair, observing the man''s arrogance with a strange sense of detachment. Once, this kind of treatment would have filled me with shame—the humiliation of being bought off, dismissed as worthless. Now, I felt only a calm certainty about what would happen next.


    "You seem confused," Isabelle continued, her voice carrying the practiced edge I''de to recognize as her aristocratic upbringing. "Money isn''t the issue. Manners are."


    Castroughed, a short, ugly sound. "Manners? In this backwater city? Save your lectures for someone who cares."


    "Backwater?" Isabelle raised an eyebrow. "That''s riching from someone who clearly bought his first designer suitst week."


    I saw his expression shift from contempt to rage in an instant. "Do you have any idea who I am? Who I represent?"


    "Someone not important enough for me to have recognized," Isabelle replied with a dismissive wave of her hand.


    Castro''s face contorted. "I''m Castro Wei, personal assistant to Vivian LeRoux, the face of Ocean Pearl Cosmetics and fiancée to Vincent Zhao of Zhao Industries!"


    "And I''m somebody who''s still eating dinner," I interjected, deliberately taking another bite.


    The veins in Castro''s neck bulged. He snapped his fingers, and the security guards moved forward in unison. "Remove them. Now."


    I set down my fork with a sigh. "There are seven—no, eight of you," I noted, counting the additional men who had appeared at Castro''s signal. "That seems excessive for asking two people to leave a restaurant."


    "It''s not a request anymore," Castro sneered.


    As the first guard reached for my shoulder, I moved. To the others, it must have seemed like a blur—one moment I was seated, the next the guard was on the ground, gasping for air. The second man swung at me, but I slipped past his punch and pressed my fingers into a nerve cluster at his wrist. He dropped with a howl of pain.


    The remaining guards hesitated, suddenly realizing they weren''t dealing with an ordinary civilian. I stood calmly, hands rxed at my sides.


    "Anyone else want to try?" I asked pleasantly.


    Two more charged forward together. I sidestepped the first, using his momentum to send him crashing into a nearby table. The second managed to graze my shoulder before I swept his legs and drove my palm into his sr plexus—just enough force to incapacitate without causingsting damage.


    Four down, four to go.


    The remaining guards were smarter, spreading out to surround me. I felt my blood quicken, the familiar sensation ofbat awareness sharpening my senses. This wasn''t a life-or-death struggle like my battles in Veridia City, but the fundamental principles remained the same.


    "Liam," Isabelle called out, her voice amused rather than concerned. "Don''t break them too badly. We still need to finish dinner."


    Her casual confidence in my abilities made me smile. "I''ll be quick."


    True to my word, I dispatched the remaining guards in under thirty seconds. One tried a trained grappling move that suggested formal martial arts training—I countered with a technique he''d clearly never seen before, leaving him staring in confusion as his body refused to respond to hismands. The others fell in simrly efficient fashion, none managing tond a solid hit.


    When it was done, eight security personnely scattered around our table in various states of difort. None were seriously injured, but all were effectively neutralized.


    I returned to my seat and picked up my fork as if nothing had happened. "This lobster really is excellent," Imented to Isabelle.


    Castro had backed away during the confrontation, his face now drained of color. "You... you''ll regret this," he stammered. "Do you have any idea how many connections Miss LeRoux has in this city?"


    "Fewer than me, I suspect," Isabelle replied, dabbing her lips with a napkin. "Now run along. Your boss seems to have abandoned you."


    Indeed, Vivian LeRoux and her photographers had disappeared, apparently deciding their "brand image" would suffer more from association with a public brawl than from changing locations.


    Castro retreated, nearly tripping over one of the groaning guards. "This isn''t over," he called back, trying to salvage some dignity. "Watch your back!"


    "Dramatic exit needs work too," I called after him, which earned me a delightedugh from Isabelle.


    ---


    Two hourster, we stood before the imposing entrance of the South City Auction House. The building resembled a Greek temple crossed with a modern art museum—all white marble columns and sweeping ss. A red carpet stretched from the street to the entrance, nked by security personnel in tailored ck suits.


    "Impressive," I murmured, taking in the stream of luxury vehicles disgorging elegantly dressed attendees.


    Isabelle nodded. "This auction is famous even in Veridia City. Peoplee from all over the country for it."


    As we approached the entrance, a security guard stepped forward, his expression professionally neutral. "Good evening. May I see your invitation?"


    I reached into my jacket pocket for the envelope Leopold Shepherd had provided, but before I could produce it, the guard continued.


    "Also, I must inform you that entry requires verification of assets exceeding one billion."


    Isabelle''s eyebrows rose slightly. "One billion?"


    "Yes, ma''am," the guard confirmed. "South City Auction has a strict policy to ensure all bidders can fulfill theirmitments."


    I felt a moment of uncertainty. Leopold had mentioned the entry requirements were steep, but one billion was beyond anything I''d anticipated. Before I could respond, a familiar voice cut through the evening air.


    "Well, well. Look who thinks they can shop with the big boys."


    Castro Wei strode toward us, now apanied by a different entourage of well-dressed men. His earlier humiliation had been reced with smug confidence.


    "Still following us?" Isabelle asked dryly. "I thought you''d have found a better hobby by now."


    Castro ignored her, addressing the security guard instead. "These two were just leaving. They clearly don''t belong here."


    The guard remained impassive. "Sir, if they can provide the required verification—"


    "They can''t," Castro interrupted. "Him?" He jabbed a finger at me. "He was eating at a seafood shack because it was all he could afford."


    I maintained myposure, though I felt my jaw tighten. "Assumptions are dangerous things."


    "Not assumptions, facts," Castro sneered. "And you," he turned to Isabelle, "I don''t care what kind of princess you pretend to be in whatever backwater town you''re from. Hanging around with this nobody? You''re obviously just as broke."


    Isabelle''s eyes narrowed dangerously. "What''s wrong with eating at roadside stalls? At least we don''t eat shit in bathrooms like you do."


    A collective gasp rose from the onlookers who had gathered to watch the confrontation. Castro''s face flushed deep crimson, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.