Back in New York —
That evening, a luxurious private room in one of the exclusive hotels was reserved under the na of David Dickens.
It wasn't just any gathering.
The room was filled with the sa people who had previously resigned voluntarily from their board positions at Winslow Globals under the threat of Aiden —the sa investors who had pulled their funding, and the sa dealers and suppliers who had hastily backed out from their contracts in hopes of seeing Aiden down on his knees, begging for their support.
And tonight, they were all here to celebrate.
To celebrate the final countdown of the fall of Aiden Winslow.
Since it was a celebratory get-together, the atmosphere was light, music played softly in the background, and champagne flowed like water. Everyone was in high spirits, laughing and socializing, but it was obvious who the star of the evening was.
Dafydd Winslow —the man who comfortably sat in the focal point of the room, his posture relaxed and expression smug.
All eyes were on him.
One after another, the guests surrounded him, speaking with flattery dripping from every word, treating him like a king awaiting the coronation.
"Mr. Winslow, soon you will be achieving what you have worked so hard for. When the ti cos, please do not forget us."
"Yes, yes, Mr. Winslow," another chid in. "Soon, you will be sitting in the President's chair at Winslow Globals. We are counting on you."
"We have always believed in your capability," the third one added, raising his glass. "With you, we know we will never face any loss."
They all said one after the other, and the room echoed with their cheers.
Dafydd gazed at them. His eyes were unreadable, but his lips curled into a smug, appreciative smile. Leaning forward, he lifted his glass and said smoothly, "You all have supported when it mattered the most. Of course, Dafydd Winslow would never forget that. When the ti cos, each of you will be rewarded."
Hearing him say that, all the sycophants were satisfied. They cheered and laughed, filling the air with enthusiasm.
"Of course, we will be rewarded when the ti cos! And the ti isn't far away! Ha-ha~"
The voice ca from a distance, turning every head in the room.
It was no other but Mr. Dickens who stepped forward, dragging along a woman less than half his age in his arms.
The night had barely begun, yet he already looked heavily drunk. He staggered as he walked, a lewd grin plastered on his lips while he whispered sothing into the woman's ears that made her giggle and hide her face behind her manicured fingers.
Anyone with sense would have found the sight disgraceful. But considering the status he held among these people, no one dared criticize him.
Instead, they laughed and cheered along with him.
"Mr. Dickens sure knows how to enjoy life —even at this age!"
"Haha! Old man Dickens, where did you find this beauty? She is a real stunner! Planning to keep her company tonight?"
Mr. Dickens chuckled, pulling the girl even closer. "Jealous, are you? You should know by now —I never settle for anything less than the best. Whether it's wine or won."
The woman giggled again as he pressed a sloppy kiss to her cheeks.
Everyone around howled with laughter.
"Sure enough, Mr. Dickens ca ready to celebrate —and thoroughly, too!"
"Yes, he not just invited us, but he even prepared such a gorgeous treat for himself. I am starting to feel that we are missing out."
"Exactly! He should have arranged won for all of us as well!"
"We are envious now!"
Hering their teasing, Dicken's pride swelled several degrees. With an arrogant smirk, he pulled the woman tighter into his side and declared, "You all deserved the wine I served. But if you want a woman, enhance your charm first. As for the one I brought —she is not for sharing."
He paused dramatically before his gaze landed squarely on Dafydd.
"Well … unless it's you, Dafydd," he said suggestively. "If you want, uncle can leng her to you soti to play."
The room quieted just a beat, all eyes darting to Dafydd, expecting him to take the bait.
Dafydd looked up lazily, his expression calm and unaffected. His gaze flicked over the woman briefly, before a slow, almost mocking smile played on his lips.
Then he leaned back, lifting his drink, and said coldly —
"She is uncle's toy to play with. I would rather not touch soone whose price is asured by a bottle of champagne."
As he took a sip of his champagne, the room fell into sharp silence.
Everyone froze for a beat. For the first ti, they noticed the shift in Dafydd's deanor. Though he had seed amiable, it was clear —he was drawing a line —boldly and unmistakably.
A line between himself and the rest of them.
Dafydd's gaze swept across the room, a subtle smirk of arrogance forming on his lips —quiet but commanding.
Who did they think he was?
He was Dafydd Winslow. The Winslow.
Did they think he would have spared them a glance if he hadn't planned to use them against his own son?
He had endured their greasy words because it served a purpose. But now that the ga was almost over, he no longer had any reason to entertain their pathetic displays.
Mr. Dickens stiffened for a second, his pride clearly bruised. But he was too drunk —and too proud —to realize it at the mont. He forced a laugh, though it lacked earlier arrogance.
"Ah, Dafydd, always a gentleman!" he said, chuckling awkwardly, raising his glass. "You really do know how to respect . Of course, what's mine, you can't touch."
Dafydd didn't bother responding.
He simply downed the rest of his drink and stood up to leave.
"Cheers to everyone!" he said, cool and composed, as he sauntered out of the room without giving any glance back.
For a mont, people exchanged glances, feeling slightly unsettled by his sudden exit. But soon enough, they shrugged it off. After all, what was a little arrogance from Dafydd Winslow?
As long as they got what they were promised, they are even willing to eat his sh*t.
But little did they know ...
Even eating the sh*t wouldn't save them anymore.
While they toasted to their supposed victory —their good fortune had already been flipped.
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