Chapter 4

When we entered the banquet hall, Lester linked her arm through mine and walked in quickly, as if afraid of being seen.

A female colleague came toward us, her gaze sweeping from the top of my head to my feet, her voice loud enough for others to hear. "So this is your boyfriend? The designated driver?" She wrinkled her nose without hiding her disdain. "Reeks of poverty."

Before Lester could respond, someone nearby laughed and chimed in. "Lester, you're really something. David thinks so highly of you, and you go and find a designated driver. Aren't you just degrading yourself?"

A few people around us laughed quietly. Lester pulled me along, quickening her pace without saying a word, her fingers digging tightly into my arm—not out of concern for me, but out of fear I'd say the wrong thing.

After David finished his speech on stage and came down to make his rounds, he spotted me immediately and stopped.

In front of a circle of people, his voice rang out loudly. "Oh, so this is Lester's boyfriend? The designated driver?"

He looked me up and down, shook his head, and turned to the sales manager beside him with a laugh. "Look at this. Lester's taste is really terrible—finding a designated driver. A top car salesperson doing this to herself? What a waste. And here I thought she was a smart woman."

The manager smiled obsequiously and echoed him a couple of times.

David turned back, patting my shoulder with just enough force—the kind of condescending pat from above. "Young man, what kind of future is there in being a designated driver? Life's too short. Don't hold Lester back. If she stays with you, she'll suffer for the rest of her life."

I didn't say anything.

Lester kept her head down and didn't say a word.

Her brother Howard pushed through the crowd with a glass in hand, shouting loudly, "Julian!"

He looked around, making sure his voice carried, raised his glass, and said with a laugh, "Everyone, tell me—my sister's the company's top salesperson, and she's with a designated driver. Isn't she blind?"

The room erupted in laughter. Someone muttered quietly, "She really is settling," while others shook their heads or held their drinks, watching the show.

Howard turned to look at me, his smile fading, replaced by open contempt. "Julian, I'll just say it straight. Are you worthy? What makes you worthy of my sister? What do you have? Money? Connections? All you've got is a driver's license. Designated drivers are bottom-tier trash—the kind who'll never crawl out of the gutter their whole lives. Don't you have any self-awareness?"

More laughter followed.

This time, Lester spoke up, saying, "Howard, that's enough." But her voice was as flat as if she were commenting on the weather. Then she picked up her glass and turned to clink it with a colleague nearby.

She didn't look at me once.

I sat in that chair, hands resting on my knees, not drinking a sip.

I thought about every time over the past three years she'd said, "Can't you be more ambitious?" I thought about her laughing in the backseat, calling me a "bottom-feeder doing bottom-feeder work." I thought about the loose change David had thrown in my face. I thought about that hour-long video, the car parked under the streetlight, rocking. I thought about the screenshot from legal showing the recipient's name: Lester.

Lester's mother stood up at that moment, her voice shrill enough for the entire table to hear. "What can a filthy designated driver give my daughter? Can you afford a big house? Can you afford a luxury car? Your monthly salary doesn't even match one of my daughter's car sale commissions!"

Her finger was practically jabbing my face. The people around us laughed openly and without restraint.

Just then, Wesley walked in through the side door.

He didn't look at anyone. Quietly, he walked to the corner, bent down, and plugged the projection cable into the large screen.

The screen lit up.

The first image—the business license for the luxury car dealership. In the legal representative column was my name.

The second image—the corporate structure chart. David's name was listed under "General Manager."

My name was above his.

The entire room went silent.

David's face turned white in that instant.