From the shadows, phones were raised. The red recording lights blinked like silent eyes.
Vanessa laughed under her breath. “Maybe now he knows where he stands.”
Jamal didn’t flinch. He didn’t wipe the wine off frantically. He simply raised two fingers and brushed a drop from his jaw. He adjusted his cuff. He straightened his posture.
And then, without a single word, he turned and walked toward the exit.
“That man walked out like he owned the place,” a server whispered as Jamal passed.
Nobody believed it. But they should have.
The hallway outside the ballroom was cool and silent. The burst of noise and humiliation faded behind the heavy doors.
Jamal moved with steady steps. He could feel the damp wine clinging to his skin, a physical reminder of the disrespect. He exhaled once—a long, controlled breath—and reached into his pocket.
He pulled out his phone. The screen lit up his face in the dim corridor. He dialed a single number.
It was answered on the first ring. “Ready for instructions, Sir.”
Jamal’s voice was low, devoid of emotion. “Pull the offer.”
“Sir?”
