The tension in the hall was thick enough to choke on. Glasses clinked quietly, music had died down, and people were no longer pretending to enjoy the party. They were watching. Waiting.
Jaden and Stanwell stood across from each other like two lit fuses.
Stanwell’s eyes didn’t blink. His hands were already flexing, shoulders squared, like he was seconds from swinging. “You’re dead, you hear me?” he growled, stepping forward.
“Gentlemen,” a calm voice cut in from the side, breaking the stare-down.
It was Donald Winston, walking slowly toward them. He wasn’t shouting. He wasn’t panicking. Just calm, measured, and serious.
“Come on now,” Donald said, glancing at both men with the kind of smile you wear when you’re trying to stop a brawl without embarrassing anyone. “Let’s not do this here.”
Stanwell didn’t say anything at first, just kept his eyes locked on Jaden. But he didn’t throw a punch either. That alone was progress.
Donald stopped between them. “I know both of you. I respect both of you. But tonight’s not the night for fists.” He gestured around. “My daughter’s birthday. My company’s anniversary. Can we not have just one peaceful night?”
Some of the guests nodded quietly, sipping their drinks and watching carefully, like this was still part of the show.
Donald turned to Stanwell first. “You’re a guest here, and an honored one. Don’t let this turn into something we’ll all regret. I know you could handle yourself, no doubt. But not tonight, son. Please.”
Stanwell cracked his neck, still breathing heavy. “He disrespected me.”
Donald gave a small nod. “And I’ll talk to him about it. But this—” he motioned between the two of them, “—this doesn’t end well for anyone. Come. Sit. Have a drink. At least for tonight.”
Stanwell looked at Donald, then let out a slow breath. “Alright,” he said, stepping back. “Out of respect. But let’s not pretend this is over.”
He turned toward Jaden and pointed a finger. “You got lucky.”
The whispers started immediately.
“Jaden’s lucky Donald stepped in…”
“Stanwell would've wrecked him.”
People leaned in, curious.
Stanwell looked over his shoulder at Jaden. “Tomorrow night. Friendly boxing match. You and me. Gloves, ring, and no more excuses. If you’ve got the guts, that is.”
A few cheers broke out. Phones were already coming up.
Donald sighed, but said nothing.
Jaden stepped forward, not rushing, just enough to close the gap a little. His voice was calm, like he was ordering lunch. “Sure. I’ll be there.”
Stanwell grinned, full of pride. “Good. Bring a stretcher.”
Jaden didn’t reply. He turned away and headed for the drink table, picked up a glass of water, and drank like nothing had happened.
Stanwell stood in place for a moment, looking smug. Guests moved toward him, patting him on the back, throwing words like “show him who you are” and “make him pay.”

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