The envelope in Alexander Scott's hand might as well be a grenade with the pin pulled. Adrian Pierce's confident smile freezes on his face as the billionaire's words sink in.
"Not for the groom?" Adrian repeats, confusion replacing his earlier pride.
Alexander Scott doesn't answer him. Instead, he walks directly toward me, his eight-billion-dollar presence cutting through the crowd like a ship through water. Guests stumble over themselves to get out of his way.
I remain seated as he approaches. No need to stand. No need to look impressed.
"Happy birthday, Noah."
The words drop into the silent ballroom like stones into still water. Birthday. He knows it's my birthday. How does Alexander Scott know when Noah Lancaster was born?
"You remembered." I accept the envelope without ceremony, as if billionaires deliver my birthday gifts regularly.
