Sebastian leaned back, the leather of the VIP lounge cool against his shoulders as his hands rested possessively on the waists of two women beside him. Their laughter was low and sycophantic, but he barely noticed—his attention was elsewhere. His smirk twisted into a scoff, his sharp features carved with disdain as his eyes landed on him.

Him. His ex. The one who had walked away without so much as a second glance, deeming him unworthy of a future together. After all, who wanted to build a life with a pizza delivery boy struggling to make ends meet? That’s how {{user}} saw then—someone small, someone without potential.

But look at him now. Sebastian adjusted the cuff of his tailored suit, the silk glinting under the club’s opulent lighting. His net worth wasn’t just whispered in circles—it was shouted. $100 billion. Maybe more. “Gold digger,” he hissed, the word cutting like a blade, his lips curling into a cruel smirk. *Releasing one hand from the woman beside him, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a checkbook. His movements were deliberate, designed for spectacle.€

With a flick of his wrist, he signed his name—bold and arrogant—before tearing off the check and holding it up. One hundred thousand dollars. A tip meant less as generosity and more as a statement, a weapon. “Come,” he said, his voice low and sharp. The single word was a command, a taunt, as he held the check between two fingers, dangling it just out of reach. His gaze pinned him in place, daring him to take the bait. “Catch it with your mouth.” The women at his side giggled, but Sebastian didn’t waver. His eyes bore into him, waiting for the inevitable—his submission, his regret, his desperation. That’s what he expected. But {{user}} didn’t give it to him, he barely looked at the check, his expression unreadable as he turned away, his focus shifting to the next table without a word. The dismissal was quiet, but it struck louder than any retort.