The atmosphere in the banquet hall was both lively and strangely charged. Many members of the family took turns mocking Bardi, reducing him to nothing in their words.
They called him a lowlife, a disgrace, a man of no character or morality, someone fundamentally different from them, the so-called elite.
The upper-class had a way of speaking, sharp, subtle, and full of veiled contempt. They didn't hurl outright insults like commoners, nor did they make crude declarations. Instead, they wove elaborate comparisons, likening themselves to grand towers while casting Bardi as mere sewage and filth. Through allegory and mythology, they painted him as a vain, worthless man, now abandoned by the head of the family, forever barred from entering the elite circle.
He was nothing more than a rogue, destined to accomplish nothing in life.
Among the crowd, the second-generation heirs were the most vocal. They had already disliked Bardi's presence from the start, and now, seeing that their fathers had turned on him, they became even bolder. Their words, though not explicitly vulgar, carried an unmistakable undertone of ridicule, disdain, and scorn, insults that would push any ordinary man to the breaking point.
When it became clear that Bardi would not be given the eighteenth seat in the family, nearly all the women in attendance shook their heads in disappointment, regret flashing in their eyes.
This handsome man was finished.
From this day forward, there would be no place for him in Metropolis.
He had no choice but to return to the slums from which he came.
That was the consensus among the guests.
And yet, Bardi remained unfazed.
He sipped his champagne with ease, his expression calm, unmoved by the tide of hostility around him.
His gaze swept across the family members who were laughing at his expense, steady and indifferent.
The whole scene was almost amusing.
He had spent his past years facing high-intelligence opponents in deadly battles, playing intricate games of life and death. He had killed more men than he could count.
And now, with just a shift in circumstances, these people who knew nothing of true power dared to speak of him as if he were dirt beneath their feet.
No matter the world, it seemed, the short-sightedness of the ignorant was always the same.
"Why are you keeping up this act? If I were you, I'd have crawled out of here already."
A young man in a tailored purple suit sneered, his hair slicked back with wax, a smirk twisting his lips. He had been watching Bardi remain eerily calm throughout the entire ordeal and assumed it was nothing more than a desperate front.
Being publicly discarded by the family, mocked by countless voices, shunned by the very women who had once looked at him with admiration how could any man endure that? The humiliation alone should have been enough to drive him mad with regret.
Pretending to be unfazed was meaningless.
"Maybe he just doesn't want to leave," another guest chimed in. "He's never been to a banquet in his life. No wonder he's reluctant to go."
Laughter rippled through the room. Many shook their heads, amused by Bardi's so-called ignorance, confident that he had no idea what he was up against.
He truly didn't know his place.
Just another uneducated slum rat, too foolish to recognize the opportunity he had destroyed with his own hands.
"I'll say it again, Mr. Bardi," Morgan Edge finally spoke, his voice smooth and measured. "This banquet was originally meant to celebrate your ascension to the eighteenth seat. But now, you've angered the entire family. If you wish to salvage the situation, you must apologize to each and every person here. Otherwise, I will have no choice but to be embarrassed on your behalf. After all, joining this family requires the approval of its members."
Morgan Edge clasped his hands behind his back, his demeanor composed, exuding the effortless authority of a man in power. He shook his head lightly, as if offering Bardi a final chance, as if he were the wiser man trying to guide an unruly fool.
He stepped forward slowly, his every movement deliberate and steady.
Wherever he walked, the crowd instinctively parted, clearing a path for him in silent deference.
Against the backdrop of a hundred gazes turned against Bardi, Morgan's superiority was on full display, commanding respect effortlessly.
His wife followed behind him, her elegant figure moving with practiced grace. The air around her carried a subtle, intoxicating fragrance, one that spoke of wealth, class, and aristocratic refinement. As she approached her husband, she took his arm, their figures presenting a picture of unity and status.
Morgan Edge stood before Bardi with a composed, faint smile. Though Bardi was taller, broader, and stronger, in Morgan's mind, the difference in stature meant nothing.
In every other way, power, wealth, influence, Bardi was beneath him.
The gap between them was insurmountable.
What he possessed—status, riches, a woman that Bardi desired—was beyond the reach of a man from the slums.
Of course, Morgan knew that Bardi's interest in his wife was fleeting, a mere indulgence for a single night. But that didn't matter.
It didn't stop him from looking down on Bardi.
Nor did it stop the surrounding guests from treating Bardi like a joke, as if he were nothing more than a spectacle for their amusement.
Someone who had no business mingling with the elite.
Morgan smiled lightly, allowing his wife to rest her hand on his arm. His expression remained outwardly gentle, but his eyes carried the satisfaction of a man watching a fallen adversary.
"Well," one guest spoke up, picking up on Morgas's tone. "Mr. Edge is right. You need to apologize."
Others quickly followed suit.
"Yes, an apology is the least you can do after such rudeness at the banquet."
"You really… how could you act this way? Mr. Bardi, don't listen to them. My shoes got stained with alcohol. Just wipe them clean, and we'll call it even."
"We're reasonable people, after all."
The younger generation of the family grew excited.
To humiliate a man who had made them jealous, to watch him lower his head in front of everyone, especially in front of so many beautiful women was intoxicating.
Their fathers stood by silently, their lack of intervention granting tacit approval.
The crowd grew more aggressive, their demands escalating. Some even suggested that Bardi kneel down, pressing his forehead to the ground. If he refused, then once he left this banquet, the family's influence would crush him. His company, his products, everything would be wiped out.
From their perspective, a man who dared to challenge Morgan Edge deserved nothing less than complete ruin.
In the midst of the clamor, the woman in a deep purple evening gown furrowed her brows.
Though she had no particular attachment to Bardi, even she found the situation excessive. His behavior had not been so outrageous as to warrant this level of degradation. Refusing to give face to Morgan Edge was one thing, but demanding that he grovel before the entire family?
That was beyond reason.
Still, she remained silent, merely watching with a curious glint in her eyes.
How would Bardi handle this?
Would he lose his temper and lash out?
Would he storm out in anger?
Or would he simply walk away?
Bardi's lips curled slightly as he observed the scene, amusement flickering in his gaze.
He looked at the guests, at their smug faces, at Morgan Edge's carefully cultivated expression of control.
Morgan smiled at him, his expression one of polite indifference, but his eyes told a different story—a quiet, smug triumph.
Only his wife, standing at his side, seemed to hesitate. There was something unreadable in her gaze.
A sudden, sharp sound echoed through the hall.
A cane struck the ground with force.
The impact rang out, louder than all the voices combined, sending an undeniable shockwave through the room.
The banquet hall fell into instant silence.
Even the band stopped playing.
And then, an aged, authoritative voice cut through the stillness.
"Morgan Edge, you've gone too far."