The Nobody Who Ruled Everything

Chapter 2:The Banquet of Humiliation

Inside the Grand Hall, chandelier lights spilled into a cascade of glittering rays. The ballroom buzzed with soft music, the mingled scent of wine and perfume creating an atmosphere of opulence layered with artificial charm. At the center of it all, where banquet tables curved in a crescent, the Morgan family sat in a neat row, each person exuding their own brand of arrogance.

Today was the birthday celebration of the Morgan family’s matriarch. Madam Helen Morgan sat in the central seat, frail in stature, but her gaze still sharp as steel. Once the iron-willed head of the Morgan Group before passing the reins to the younger generation, Helen had grown even colder toward her granddaughter-in-law since the death of her husband, the former chairman, a death that had shaken the family’s standing.

Claire sat at a table to the right, back straight, face composed, though her eyes revealed a subtle tension. Her marriage had long since become a chain of obligation, a rope that had once saved her, now serving as shackles.

Across from her, Ryan Morgan, the second son of her third uncle, all smooth words and venomous intent, raised his glass, his smile laced with familiar insincerity. Beside him was Elena Morgan, Claire’s cousin, who took delight in humiliating her. On their left sat Carlton Rothman, heir to the Rothman banking family, Ryan’s close friend, and a man widely known among the elite as Young Master Rothman: rich, well-connected, and fond of treating women as entertainment.

Elena leaned over, her gaze cutting toward Claire, her voice teasing: “Didn’t expect you to have the guts to show up, Claire. After all, it is Grandma’s birthday, and she…”

Ryan picked up the thread, his smile deepening: “…has never liked you. I have to admire that, you came knowing the whole family sees you as a stain."

Elena chuckled, fingers toying with her diamond ring: “Don’t say that, Ryan. She is part of this family, just… from a lower tier. Isn’t her husband a hotel employee? At least that’s a steady job."

Ryan drawled: “Steady, sure. Just carry drinks, bow at the right times, smile when told. Claire must have picked her husband based on how obedient he is."

The table erupted in laughter, each snide chuckle sharp as broken glass, while Claire clenched her glass, her fingers turning white.

Carlton Rothman raised an eyebrow and set his drink down, his lazy tone laced with meaning: “Bit harsh, don’t you think? I still remember when Claire turned me down back then, said she didn’t like arrogant men. And now she’s married to a hotel worker. Unique taste, I’ll give her that."

Elena feigned modesty, covering her mouth with a laugh: “Young Master Rothman speaks the truth. Maybe she’s tired of the rich and wanted a change of flavor. Sometimes, going humble makes a woman feel noble."

Ryan nodded, eyes full of disdain: “Or maybe she just ran out of options."

Laughter flared again, louder this time, catching the attention of several nearby tables.

Claire raised her head, her voice low and sharp: “Have you all said enough?"

Elena shrugged: “Just chatting. Don’t ruin the mood, it’s Grandma’s birthday, not anyone’s funeral."

Ryan chuckled: “Exactly. Cheer up. Speaking of which, where’s your husband? Doesn’t he work at this hotel? Or is he busy scrubbing floors?"

Elena turned her head, her eyes lighting up as a figure passed the ballroom entrance.

"No, he’s not far. There, isn’t that him just walking in?"

All eyes turned.

Adrian entered, holding a full tray of wine. His pace was calm, almost cold. Under the crystal lights, his black uniform fit snug against his frame, painting a picture starkly at odds with the noisy grandeur around him, still, composed, and unreadable.

Ryan tilted his head, sneering: “Oh, speak of the devil. Just in time, we were getting thirsty. Hey, server, over here!"

Elena leaned back in her chair, raising her voice: “Yes, you! This table. Pour us some wine, won’t you?"

Claire lowered her head, her fingers trembling faintly. Inside her, each layer of dignity was being suffocated, but she couldn’t fight back.

Adrian stopped. His eyes swept across the group before resting on Claire. She quickly looked away, terrified of finding pity or contempt in his gaze. But what she saw was neither, only a strange stillness, devoid of hate or sorrow, a calm so absolute it seemed he had already transcended the humiliation they so desperately tried to inflict.

He set the tray down, picked up a wine bottle, and began pouring with a steady hand. Not a tremble. The light through the glass cast a trail of red across the white cloth, so beautiful it was chilling.

Elena watched him, lips curling: “Hurry it up, would you? Young Master Rothman shouldn’t be made to wait. That wine isn’t something just anyone gets to touch."

Ryan leaned in, voice dripping with scorn: “Careful now. A single drop on the floor’s worth your whole month’s wage, you know that?"

Adrian said nothing. Tilting the bottle, he poured into Carlton Rothman’s glass. The sound of liquid meeting crystal was so faint, it felt like the ballroom had paused its breath.

But just as the wine touched the rim, Carlton leaned in, seemingly by accident, and twisted his wrist. The deep red liquid splashed onto his tailored trousers, blooming like blood against the expensive fabric.

Carlton let out a soft chuckle, a long, drawn-out sound that stretched taut over the air: “Oh, how clumsy of me. Must’ve been the server’s poor pouring skills."

Ryan laughed along, clapping twice. “Young Master Rothman, clumsy? I think the guy holding the bottle should go back to training instead.”

Elena glanced at Adrian, her voice sweet as honey yet sharp as a blade: “You should apologize. He just ruined a suit worth tens of thousands of dollars. What are you waiting for?”

Adrian set the bottle down, his voice low and calm, like a breeze passing by: “If I spilled it, I’d apologize. But he did it himself, I don’t see what I have to say.”

Carlton looked at him, a flicker of disdain in his eyes. “Did it himself? You think I don’t know how to hold a wine glass? And a hotel staffer like you dares speak to me in that tone?”

Ryan leaned back in his chair, the amusement dancing in his grin.

“He’s not just staff, Carlton. He holds a… special title.”

Elena caught on immediately, her eyes lighting with malice: “That’s right. Haven’t you heard? This ‘server’ here is my cousin’s husband, Claire Morgan’s.”

Carlton froze for a moment, then burst into loud, echoing laughter that drew glances from nearby tables.

“Husband? Claire Morgan, the same woman who turned down my invitation, married this guy?”

Elena gave a theatrical sigh, her hand brushing over her wine glass like a mournful caress.

“Life is full of ironies. Back when Grandpa was around, no one dared mention her name without reverence. Now he’s gone, the family’s burdened with disgrace, and she’s the one carrying the heaviest weight.”

Ryan scoffed, voice dropping but loud enough for the table to hear: “Well, it makes sense. Those born to kneel shouldn’t be seated above. Her husband proves that all too well.”

Claire suddenly stood, her voice cold, trembling, but clear: “That’s enough. He’s done nothing wrong, and he doesn’t deserve to be humiliated like this.”

Elena looked up, lips curling: “Wrong? You’re defending him? In front of Young Master Rothman, in front of Grandmother, in front of the whole family? Do you think your words still carry weight?”

Ryan stared at her, his smile fading, voice slow and heavy: “Have you forgotten why this family’s in shambles? Who cost us our reputation in the financial world? Who led to the shares in Morgan Group being withdrawn? If not for that marriage, we wouldn’t be this disrespected.”

Elena chimed in smoothly, her tone laced with thorns: “Grandmother only invited you out of courtesy. Don’t think you still have a place here. If you really understood your position, you’d stay silent, to spare everyone the shame.”

Claire faltered, her face paling, lips trembling yet unable to form a response. She stood frozen like a statue, eyes cast down, desperately avoiding the mocking stares that closed in on her.

Meanwhile, Adrian remained motionless, his hand still resting on the neck of the bottle, calm to the point of eeriness. He looked toward Carlton, his gaze neither angry nor evasive, just a cold, clear glint that sent a chill down the other man’s spine.

Carlton frowned slightly but forced a smile to mask the unease.

“Quite the knight, aren’t you? Letting your wife defend you in front of everyone. But really, a man who needs that kind of saving… is just a failure.”

Carlton Rothman looked down at the crimson stain spreading across his pants, then narrowed his eyes. The smirk on his lips flattened into something dull and sinister. Tilting his head, his voice rough and slow, like someone savoring a cheap joke: “What are you standing there for? You ruined my suit, if you won’t apologize, you should at least know what to do next.”

Adrian remained silent, his eyes calm, one hand quietly curling by his side. Under the chandelier’s glow, his irises gleamed a pale, steely gray, unnervingly cold.

Ryan slammed a hand on the table, his voice a mix of contempt and provocation: “Who does he think he is, ignoring Young Master Rothman like that? Wipe it up, it’s just wine. A server who doesn’t know the value of what he spills doesn’t belong here.”

Elena scoffed, her voice velvety but barbed: “That’s right. If he won’t do it, we’ll call the manager. I doubt this hotel keeps staff with no manners.”

Adrian said nothing. He glanced at the white napkin on the table, then slowly bent to pick it up. His every movement was so measured it seemed like he was dragging time itself, but in truth, it was just unnervingly composed.

Carlton leaned back, legs stretching slightly, his voice soft: “Come on. I don’t have all day.”

Adrian didn’t reply. He bent slightly, hand reaching toward the edge of the table near Carlton to dab the wine. But Carlton leaned in, tilted his chin, and his voice dropped with blatant provocation: “Not there. Here.” He placed his hand on his thigh, the red stain glaring in full view of everyone.

The whole table burst into laughter.

Elena giggled, her tone dripping with malice: “You’re really going to make my husband clean that for you, Carlton? Well, that’s touching. A hero in the family showing his devotion.”

Ryan added, his eyes gleaming with ridicule: “A touching scene in a crowd. The server wipes wine off Young Master Rothman’s pants, while the noble wife looks on. Truly poetic.”

Claire shot to her feet, her face ghost-pale. Her voice cracked as she snapped: “You’ve gone too far!”

Carlton raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening: “Too far? I just want him to take responsibility for what he did. Or are you ashamed of what this scene is revealing?”

Ryan turned, sneering: “Claire, stop pretending to be virtuous. If you really felt shame, you wouldn’t have married him. Everyone here knows this family started falling apart the day you walked in. So what right do you have to lecture anyone about going too far?”

Elena tilted her head, her eyes piercing: “It’s strange, isn’t it? Back then, everyone called you the Morgan heiress. Now you’re sitting beside a man who scrubs floors. Grandpa would’ve never imagined his precious granddaughter would turn the Morgan name into today’s laughingstock.”