The Ex-Con Who Conquered the World novel Chapter 112

Audrey felt a prick of irritation at the comment but bit back her response.

She had to admit—Stefan's words often floated in the realm of the impractical.

Chuck let out a soft laugh. "Fair point, Evan. I'd rather not waste breath on him. Come, let's enjoy another round."

"Then allow me to toast you, Mr. Stewart," Evan replied, swiftly raising his glass toward Chuck.

Their glasses clinked lightly just as Stefan rose, announcing he was stepping out to the restroom.

The moment Stefan disappeared from the room, a sly coldness flickered behind Evan's eyes. He lifted a hand to his forehead, feigning dizziness, then let his body sway as if losing balance.

With a quiet thud, he let himself slump face-down onto the polished table, perfectly imitating a man utterly drunk beyond coherence.

"Evan... Evan, are you alright?"

Chuck called out several times, but Evan remained still, playing his role convincingly.

It was Evan's masterstroke—if Stefan wanted to stick him with the bill, he'd simply become too intoxicated to pay.

At a place like Drizzlewood Retreat, walking out without settling the check wasn't an option. And since Stefan had ordered multiple bottles of Glenfiddich 80-Year-Old, the outrageous total would inevitably land in his lap.

Evan savored the mental image of Stefan squirming, unable to cover the cost.

Want to milk him dry, Stefan? Stefan would be left humiliated in the end.

In the restroom, Stefan finished up and heard faint voices from the dining area—Chuck calling Evan's name, then the sound of the door opening and unfamiliar greetings.

Curious, he stepped back into the room.

His eyes fell on a middle-aged man with a rounded build.

The face was familiar—it was Ethan, owner of Drizzlewood Retreat.

Stefan halted, mildly surprised by the unexpected visit.

Ethan was exchanging pleasantries, his identity clearly elevating the atmosphere. Chuck and Audrey regarded him with visible respect, aware of his standing both as proprietor and as part of the prominent Reed family.

Even Sara had risen, engaging him with poised courtesy.

Not yet clear on the group's ties to Stefan, but assuming closeness since they shared the private room, Ethan remained refreshingly humble and approachable.

But when Ethan's gaze landed on Stefan emerging from the hallway, his demeanor shifted instantly toward deference, his mouth opening as if to speak.

Had Stefan truly forgotten him? Was this what they called selective memory of the privileged?

Stefan was pretending. There was a game afoot, and his role was to play along.

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