Chapter 5: The Gala Game

I squatted on the ground, stumped.

My legs were cramping up, my stomach growled so loudly I was worried someone would hear. The carpeted floor was plush but did nothing for my mood.

But my legs were numb and I was starving.

I decided to sneak into the event to find something to eat.

Tonight was the Stanton Group’s annual gala. Derek sat at the main table, surrounded by people toasting him nonstop.

It looked like something out of a Netflix drama—waiters gliding by with trays, local politicians schmoozing in the background, everybody vying for a word with the city’s new kingpin.

He’d occasionally raise his glass out of courtesy, but rarely drank.

Across the crowd, I glimpsed his tense jaw, sharp and cold.

How careless.

I asked, "He’s already taken back Stanton Group and doesn’t get bullied anymore. Why is he still so unhappy?"

System: "How should I know? Go ask him yourself."

"..."

I didn’t go.

But I saw an intern approach him—a delicate, timid girl, holding a glass of red wine in both hands:

"Mr. Stanton, I’m this year’s intern, Uncle Larry’s youngest daughter. Do you remember me? I’d like to toast you."

She looked like she’d practiced her smile in the mirror a hundred times, only for it to shatter in the spotlight.

Derek propped his chin with one hand, paused, then turned to her.

His eyes were deep, unsmiling: "Uncle Larry?"

"Yes, we met last year at the birthday party—"

"Sorry, I don’t remember everyone I meet." His gaze flicked away, dismissive.

She blinked fast, jaw tight, like she was fighting not to cry in front of all these suits.

I shook my head and sighed: "Three years later, he’s still as ruthless with his words."

But—

"Where’s the heroine? Why isn’t he with her?"

The system didn’t answer.

The next second, the intern named Larry lost her balance, stumbled, and spilled red wine on Derek.

Derek reacted instantly, shielding his left wrist.

A gasp swept through the crowd.

The assistant quickly pulled the girl away, apologizing:

"Mr. Stanton, are you alright? She didn’t mean it. I’ll help you change."

Derek glanced at the intern, his expression darkening, but he didn’t lose his temper.

He said nothing and left with the assistant.

Only then did the tense atmosphere in the venue relax.

I was puzzled: "Why did he cover his left hand?"

A bystander overheard and helpfully explained:

"Oh, that’s a bracelet his wife gave him—prayer beads. He treasures it, never takes it off, and won’t let anyone touch it. His last assistant spilled water on it once, and he nearly fired her on the spot."

I was holding a cupcake, stunned.

"Wife?"

But the prayer beads on his wrist... Those beads—there’s no way. I picked them out myself, string by string, back when he still flinched at every touch. There was no way he’d still be wearing them... unless he never really let go.