“If I’m not embarrassed by who I am,” Issac Monroe said, his voice cutting cleanly through the heavy bass of the lounge, “then the only people feeling awkward right now are all of you.”
The VIP booth fell silent for a heartbeat.
Jeffery Vance, Luke Johnson, Sarah Watts, and the rest of the so-called young elites stared at him as though he had spoken a foreign language. They had spent the last twenty minutes peeling away his dignity layer by layer, mocking his job, his clothes, his background, and his lack of status. Yet Issac sat there unbothered, as if their insults were nothing more than flies buzzing around his ear.
To him, their ridicule was absurdly childish.
It was like watching toddlers brag about plastic toys, then laughing at an adult for not owning the same cheap treasures. W
