A Vow of Deception, A Vow of Revenge novel Chapter 118

"He's Mr. Rogers, for God's sake!" Jared lowered his voice and leaned in. "The Rogers family—top of the four great families in the Capital. You know what that means, right? Don't tell me you don't."

It wasn't just about money. That alone would never be enough.

Tyson knew this perfectly well.

He just didn't want to admit it out loud.

"Are you going to go over and say hello?" Jared asked.

Tyson didn't answer. He stood his ground, watching Elvis with cold detachment.

Nearby, a trust-fund brat was making a drunken pass at one of the waitresses.

She couldn't have been more than twenty-two, and it was obvious she was scared—her eyes were wide and glassy with unshed tears, and the only response she got was the men's laughter echoing around her.

At that moment, Elvis cast a calm glance in their direction.

"If you're that drunk, maybe you should go sleep it off. Harassing the staff—is that supposed to be funny?"

His tone was even, almost bored, but underneath it was a steely authority that brooked no argument.

The laughter died instantly, as if someone had pressed mute. The entitled young men looked as though an invisible hand was squeezing their throats.

The drunk's arm was still slung over the waitress's shoulders. At Elvis's words, he shivered, sobered up in an instant, and awkwardly pulled his hand away.

The butler, experienced at reading the room, stepped in immediately. "Gentlemen, if you're in the mood to keep the party going, why not head to the media room and sing a few songs? The staff here still have work to do."

The guys flushed red and pale by turns, muttering, "Sorry, Mr. Rogers," as they slunk away.

The waitress, blinking back tears, mouthed a thank you to Elvis. He didn't acknowledge her, and she wisely hurried off.

Tyson took it all in.

He'd seen plenty of fake smiles in business, plenty of spoiled rich kids throwing their weight around in Seastone City, but he'd rarely witnessed this kind of effortless intimidation.

Elvis hadn't needed to raise his voice or utter a single threat, and he'd made those arrogant boys fall silent.

"Yeah, I have. I'm out with some friends," he typed back.

After sending it, the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—so brief it was easy to miss.

The other young men around him watched, holding their breath.

None of them had ever seen Elvis look like that before. It was as if the man with the icy stare from just moments ago had been an illusion.

Tyson felt as if a great invisible hand was squeezing his heart.

He couldn't help but wonder, was Elvis really texting Winona right now?

No. It couldn't be.

"Hey, Elvis, come on, man—we finally dragged you out, and you're glued to your phone?" A young man strolled over, clapping Elvis on the shoulder.

It was obvious from the way he spoke that he was one of the few who could treat Elvis so familiarly.