Chapter 187 The Black Card.

Chapter 187: Chapter 187 The Black Card.

The restaurant lobby remained completely frozen in place.

​Leon’s head was still turned slightly to the side from the impact of the strike. The bright red outline of a handprint was already rising on his cheek, contrast against his pale skin. His jaw was clamped tight, but his body remained motionless. He did not say a word, he did not raise his hands, and he made no move to retaliate against a woman.

​Veyra felt her blood reaching a boiling point.

​Every nerve in her body urged her to step forward and slap Naya Whitmore directly across the face. She wanted to shatter that arrogant look, return the strike tenfold, and force her to feel the exact same public humiliation she had just inflicted on Leon.

​Yet, she forced her feet to stay planted on the floor.

​She was not going to act like a fool. Naya was the daughter of a high-ranking national councilman who had a real shot at the presidency. If Veyra lost her temper and physically assaulted her in front of dozens of patrons, the fallout would be immediate. There would be law enforcement involvement, media scandals, and political consequences that could easily tear down her medical school admission and everything else she had worked so hard to build.

​She could not afford to hand Naya that kind of ammunition.

​Instead, she shifted her focus to a different target.

​Veyra turned her gaze toward Quentin Cross.

​He was standing a couple of paces behind Naya, dressed in a tailored security suit with his arms crossed lazily over his broad chest. His expression was completely blank. He was Naya’s personal bodyguard, her paid protection, and her physical backup.

​He had watched Naya slap Leon without batting an eye. He hadn’t tried to stop her, he hadn’t shown an ounce of professional courtesy, and he had simply stood there with a subtle smirk.

​Veyra turned around and walked directly up to him.

​Quentin’s eyes narrowed as she approached, his voice laced with faint amusement. "What do you think you’re doing, lady?"

​Veyra didn’t give him the courtesy of a reply.

​Her hand shot straight up through the air.

​SLAP!

​The sharp, loud crack of her palm striking his face rang out like a whip snap through the quiet room. Quentin’s head jerked sideways from the sudden blow, and his hand immediately flew up to cover his burning cheek in utter shock.

​A collective gasp echoed across the dining floor.

​Naya’s mouth dropped open, her eyes bulging in disbelief.

​"You—" Naya stammered out, her voice high and breathless.

​Veyra slowly turned around to face Naya again. Her tone remained unnervingly steady, but her eyes burned with pure fire.

​"You put your hands on my bodyguard," Veyra said, her voice carrying across every table. "So I put my hand on yours."

​Naya’s face went from bright red to deathly pale, before flushing with wild rage once again.

​"How dare a low-class woman like you lay a hand on him?" she shrieked, losing her cool entirely. "He is my private security! He is not someone you are allowed to touch!"

​"He is your person," Veyra countered without backing down an inch. "And Leon is my person. You struck my side, so I struck yours. That makes us even."

​"We are nowhere near even, you crazy—"

​"You were the one who started this mess," Veyra’s voice turned as cold as ice, cutting her off instantly. "You insulted my late mother’s honor. You threw dirt on my husband’s name. You tried to use your status to steal a dining space right out from under me. And then you lost your mind and slapped my security detail."

​She took a firm step toward Naya, closing the distance between them.

​"Listen to me carefully," Veyra warned, her voice dropping into a dangerous register. "I will protect the people who stand by me. Anyone who thinks they can lay a hand on my people will get the exact same treatment in return. That is a promise."

​Naya was shaking from head to toe, her manicured nails digging so deep into her palms that her knuckles turned white. Her features were twisted in pure bitterness.

​"Do you really think you can stand there and issue threats to me?" Naya hissed out. "Do you honestly believe you can strike my staff and walk out of here without paying for it?"

​"I just did it," Veyra replied plainly.

​"My father is going to hear every single detail of what happened here today," Naya threatened, her voice rising in pitch. "He has the power to utterly destroy you and everyone you care about!"

​"Your father is a councilman," Veyra pointed out smoothly. "He is not an absolute king, and this country is not his personal estate."

​"He is going to be the president of this nation!" Naya shrieked, stepping right up into Veyra’s space. "And the second he takes office, I will make sure you suffer for every single word that just came out of your mouth!"

​"I won’t be holding my breath," Veyra said softly.

​Naya leaned in even closer, her voice dropping down to a cruel, venomous whisper intended only for Veyra’s ears.

​"You walk around acting so confident just because you are carrying Dorian’s child inside you," Naya whispered with a dark glint in her eyes. "But what happens if that child doesn’t make it? What happens if you accidentally lose it?"

​Veyra felt her blood run cold, a sudden chill settling heavy in her chest.

​Naya saw the shift in her expression and let out a small, twisted smile. "Without that baby in your belly, he won’t have a single use for you anymore. He will toss you out onto the street like trash, and you will go right back to being the nobody you were before."

​Veyra didn’t allow her posture to break, nor did she let her gaze drop.

​However, deep inside, a dark knot formed in her stomach.

​She had faced all kinds of nasty threats over the past year. Caspian had tried to financially ruin her, Eleanor had tried to manipulate her, and Xander Hale had tried to push her into a corner. But none of them had crossed the line of targeting an unborn life.

​Naya was directly targeting her child.

​Veyra wanted nothing more than to grab the woman and break her arrogant composure right then and there. But she knew that falling into pure violence would only play right into Naya’s hands.

​Not here. Not like this.

​She took a slow, deep breath, forcing her heart rate to steady as she gathered her thoughts.

​"You are truly a pitiful person," Veyra said, her voice dropping into a quiet, contemptuous tone. "You realize you can’t beat me in a fair argument, so you resort to targeting an unborn baby. That is the absolute lowest, most disgusting tactic I have ever seen."

​Naya’s dark smile faltered slightly. "You don’t get to preach to me—"

​"You are nothing but a weak coward hiding behind your father’s coat," Veyra stated clearly. "And no amount of money or political titles will ever change that."

​Before the situation could escalate any further, the restaurant owner rushed out from his office, sweating profusely.

​His name was Victor Grant. He was a plump, middle-aged man with thin hair, looking like he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. He repeatedly wiped his forehead with a cloth as his eyes darted nervously between Veyra and the enraged heiress.

​"Please, ladies, I beg of you!" Victor pleaded, wringing his hands together. "There is no reason to cause a commotion in front of all these patrons! I have another small private room available in the back wing. It is a bit smaller, but it is completely quiet—"

​Naya cut him off with a harsh wave of her hand. "I don’t want a smaller room! I demanded the main private room, and that is the one I am taking!"

​Veyra spoke up immediately after. "I requested that room long before she stepped foot inside this building. It belongs to my party."

​"There are no other large rooms open today!" Victor cried out, looking completely overwhelmed. "This is the only full-sized private suite we have available!"

​Naya’s voice turned razor-sharp. "Then hand the keys over to me this instant."

​Veyra looked Victor straight in the eye. "I arrived first, and I expect you to honor basic business rules."

​The argument between the two sides quickly reached a boiling point.

​Naya continued to shout and throw her family weight around, while Veyra kept her arguments firm, logical, and calm. The surrounding customers watched the drama with open fascination, and the entire staff stood frozen along the walls.

​Seeing that the owner was struggling to make a choice, Quentin stepped forward to handle the matter.

​He walked right up to Victor, towering over the shorter man, and bent down to speak in a low, intimidating tone that carried heavy pressure.

​"You know exactly who my employer is," Quentin said, his voice dripping with subtle danger. "Her father is Councilor Whitmore. He is currently leading the polls to become the next president of this country. Are you entirely sure you want to make an enemy out of a man who will soon control the national tax boards and business licensing departments?"

​Victor’s face went completely white, the color draining from his lips.

​"The councilor has a very long memory," Quentin added, pressing the advantage. "When he officially takes office, he will remember every business owner who showed his family respect, and he will certainly remember the ones who insulted his daughter."

​Victor swallowed hard, his knees practically shaking inside his trousers.

​"I... I completely understand," Victor stammered out, his spirit completely broken by the political threat.

​He turned toward Veyra, looking down at the floor with an apologetic, cowardly expression.

​"I am deeply sorry, ma’am," Victor said in a weak voice. "The main private suite will be given to Ms. Whitmore for the afternoon."

​Naya’s lips curled up into a smug, victorious smile.

​She looked over at Veyra, her eyes full of mockery as she adjusted her designer coat.

​"Better luck next time, sweetheart," Naya said in a sickly sweet, poisonous voice. "Maybe next time you will learn where you fit in the food chain."

​She turned on her high heels and strutted proudly toward the door of the private room. Quentin gave Veyra a cold look before following right behind her, shutting the door firmly behind them.

​The front lobby fell into a quiet hush once again.

​Veyra stood near the podium, her fingers trembling slightly as her heart hammered against her chest.

​She had just been openly pushed aside. The establishment had chosen political power over fair treatment.

​Leon stepped up beside her, his voice very quiet and respectful. "Mrs. Thorne... we should probably leave and find another dining location."

​Veyra didn’t move an inch.

​She had lost the initial argument over the room, but she refused to let this woman walk away thinking she owned the world.

​She reached down into her leather handbag, her fingers searching through her personal items until they brushed against a sleek, hard object.

​Her fingers closed around a heavy, matte-black card.

​She pulled the item out of her bag and held it firmly between her fingers.

​The card had no raised numbers or typical bank branding. It was made of solid, weighted metal, finished in a deep matte black coating. Embossed right in the center was a striking silver crest—a stylized letter "B" enclosed within a geometric circle. Directly underneath the crest were the finely engraved words: Bordeaux 101.

​She raised the card into the light.

​Victor Grant was already in the middle of turning around, eager to hurry back into his private office and hide from the tension. But as he turned, a glint of light reflected off the metallic crest in Veyra’s hand.

​His eyes caught sight of the black card.

​His entire body went completely stiff, his boots locking against the floor.

​Veyra kept her expression cold and steady as she looked at the sweating owner. "Mr. Grant. Do you happen to recognize what this card represents?"

​Victor’s face went from pale to ghostly white, his eyes widening to the size of saucers.

​He stared directly at the matte-black metal, his gaze glued to the silver "B" crest and the fine lettering underneath it.

​His mouth opened wide, closed tightly, and then opened once more, but no sound came out for several seconds.

​"Where... where on earth did you get that card?" he finally managed to whisper out, his voice trembling violently.

​Veyra offered a small, razor-thin smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

​"I think a man in your position knows exactly what this is," she replied softly.

​Victor’s hands began to shake uncontrollably as cold sweat poured down the back of his neck.

​He looked over at the tightly shut door of the private room where Naya had just entered, then snapped his gaze right back to Veyra, staring at the black metal card held so casually between her fingers.

​He swallowed hard, realization washing over him.