Chapter 6

Robert looked at Marilyn in confusion. "Miss, may I know if there's a problem with me talking to myself while I eat?"

Breathing heavily, Marilyn calmed herself and picked up her bag. "Let's go!" She strode out of the restaurant without looking back.

Kendrick's mood was terrible. He'd been excited to see Robert, hoping to show off and ridicule him. But now, Robert's words made him exceedingly uneasy. He hurriedly chased after Marilyn, calling, "Marilyn, you don't have to mind him! Marilyn"

Seeing Marilyn leave, the proud smile faded from Robert's face, and his food lost its appeal. "I don't want to eat anymore!" he said irritably, standing up.

Robert had no idea why he'd said those things. However, seeing Marilyn near another man made him immensely angry—an emotion beyond words. He told himself he was trying to repel Kendrick, but he actually hoped to capture Marilyn's attention, like a boy trying to impress a girl by acting loud and exaggerated. He simply wished Marilyn would look at him more.

Marilyn sat in the hotel lobby, calming herself. What angered her wasn't Robert's words—she didn't care what Kendrick thought. She was angry that Robert was acting like a different person. He used to be studious, gentle, mature, and considerate. Now, he seemed like a slacker with no interest in learning, a playboy who'd given up on himself. She hated this version of Robert and didn't want to see him act this way.

Turning, she saw Kendrick following her, but her gaze went past him to Robert, who stood forlornly. Most of her anger vanished instantly. This was, after all, her fault. "He wait, why is he still here?" she wondered, remembering something.

A possibility struck her. She strode to the receptionist and asked about Robert's information. The receptionist checked the computer. "Miss, Mr. Zabinski has been staying here on credit," she said.

Marilyn sighed, wondering if her words from yesterday had been too harsh, triggering him. She took out her phone. "Transfer 7,500 dollars to Mr. Zabinski's credit, please," she said.

After paying, Marilyn left silently. The receptionist was bewildered. "Why would someone pay for Mr. Zabinski when he's staying at his family's hotel?" she wondered.

Half an hour later, Robert, in new, first-class clothes (Carlos had arranged for them), arrived in the lobby. Robert, not being hypocritical, accepted the clothes. He approached the receptionist. "I'm paying off my account," he said.

"Mr. Zabinski, Ms. Quesnell has paid 7,500 dollars for you."

"Ms. Quesnell? Marilyn Quesnell?" Robert's face darkened. He slammed the table, frightening the receptionist. His countenance gloomy, he thought, "Marilyn, do you think you can make up to me by doing this? Do you think I need your charity? No! I don't need it!"

Suddenly, he roared, "Return the money to that lady!" His voice echoed in the lobby.

Carlos, standing behind him, remained unfazed. After Robert calmed down, Carlos said, "Mr. Zabinski, there's an auction this afternoon."

Meanwhile, Marilyn, driving her relatively understated Mercedes-Benz C-Class, spoke on her phone. "All right, Mom. I'll go to the auction this afternoon."

At the hotel entrance, Carlos drove while Robert, in the backseat, reviewed documents Carlos had given him: information on his family's properties, a list of auction attendees, and the auction items.

"Mr. Zachary Zabinski said you can buy anything you want at the auction; no one can compete with us," Carlos said calmly and confidently.

Robert nodded silently. His father's statement about unlimited funds meant their wealth was beyond his comprehension.

The auction was at Yrinas's most prominent private club. At four o'clock, luxury cars lined up outside.

Stepping out, Robert saw a group of attractive men and women conversing. His unfamiliar face intrigued them; Yrinas's upper class was small, and newcomers were noticeable. But Robert's arrival was unexpected. Their curiosity was mixed with disdain. They sensed a lack of the ingrained temperament usually found in those raised in wealth.

"He must be nouveau riche," someone said.

Wealthy people disliked newcomers; Yrinas's business network was limited, and newcomers meant less for each existing member.

Facing the high-end club, Robert awkwardly adjusted his clothes.

A young man, about 25 or 26, approached confidently. "Hey. Who are you? You look new. Have you gone through the initiation?"

Robert frowned. Carlos had mentioned some social customs, but not an initiation.

The young man lectured him. "There's only so much business in Yrinas. How dare you enter our circle without the initiation? Didn't your family teach you manners?"

Someone added, "These nouveau riches are getting more annoying. They think they can just come here without learning the rules."

A beautiful, short-haired woman in an evening gown walked up, winking seductively. "You're quite handsome. If you know the rules, we can go out tonight."

As a newcomer, Robert was targeted.

"Which family is he from? How come he has no manners at all?"

"Which family are you from? Who is your father? The trader from Bay City? Or the restaurant owner from Darkmount City?"

Middle-aged men approached, seeking to assert dominance. Everyone looked down on Robert.

Then Carlos arrived. "There is indeed an initiation practice, and I apologize for not informing Mr. Zabinski. But Mr. Zabinski, we've always observed the initiation, never undergone it. Anyone wanting to do business in Yrinas must get permission from the Zabinski family first."

At Carlos's arrival, the condescending men bowed respectfully. "Mr. Camidge."