His Savior

"Manager Hollis?" Max mumbled to himself, surprised that he was actually being of help to him for the first time in his life.

But Hollis didn't fail to disappoint him again as he went on to say, "So while you're at it, Don’t forget to pay for this too.” Manger Hollis jumped out of nowhere, throwing a bill of $9,750 at him.

Max's eyes almost popped out of its socket as he looked through the bill.

“$9,750?” He asked in disbelief, “You're supposed to be paying my weekly wages. What's the meaning of this?” He asked again, confused.

“Your bill was originally $10,000, and after deducting this week's wages from it, we came up with that.” Hollis explained.

Max was still confused as to why he had to pay such an amount of money, so he looked through the bill again, seeing where it was clearly stated he rented out club room 012.

“Are you high or something? Why are you giving me this bill? That Tate f*cking Winslow, you should be suing him for harassing a staff member. Why am I being made to pay his bill?” He asked angrily.

Mr. Hollis sneered, wiping out the sweat from his full neck with his hand, “Do I need to remind you of the ruckus you caused to disturb our clients last night? They refused to pay because you disrupted theirs and even broke a Chateau Lafite Rothschild wine worth $2,000. You better pay up now because the police are already on their way.

Max tried to defend himself, but everyone was only concerned about pointing fingers.

“So he is a serial swindler.” One person said.

“He really needs to be arrested.” Came another ill comment.

Just then, the police came and handcuffed him after accusing him of being a thief.

“Let go of me! Do you know who I am?” Max yelled as they tried to drag him out. “I am Maximilian Stratford, the heir of PetroVista Shell!” He announced, forcing the police to pause briefly.

“Maximilian Stratford?” Everyone started to whisper.

Leading the most successful business in Wessexia, it was no doubt the Stratfords were the ruling family.

“Is he really ‘The Maximilian?’ I heard he's been keeping a low profile since his parents died in the car accident while being chased by paparazzi, which is why no recent pictures of him are on the Internet.” A person said.

“If you are ‘The Maximilian Stratford’, then I guess I am Sir. Stratford Snr.” Hollis joked, his potbelly bouncing as he laughed, and others also joined him in laughing at Max.

Hollis then turned to face the crowd, explaining, “I am his boss of three years at Luxe Lounge. There is no way the real heir of PetroVista would be living with his in-laws, living from hand to mouth, is there?”

The public opinion soon changed in Hollis’ favor as his story sounded more believable.

“Exactly. $10,000 is nothing to the real Stratfords, talk more of mere $200.” Another person said.

“Even I can spend that much on food every other day.” Came another comment.

“He is even wearing a waiter’s uniform and shamelessly saying such a sacred name.”

Max has had enough of their humiliation, but nothing seemed to be going his way. A single call to his secretary would save him from all this embarrassment, but he couldn't even do that now.

“If only I could hold of my phone, I can prove to you that I am the real Maximilian Stratford.” He said.

“Isn't that your phone with you? Which other one do you need again?” The guard asked.

“My old phone. I haven't had any contact with my family here since I have been in this disguise. Once I get my phone, I can pay whatever I’m owing triple fold.” He explained.

Hollis laughed again, “Cut your crap already. No one is buying this bull shit you're spewing.” He scolded.

Then Max remembered the diamond ring he’d bought, “Manager, you took off my apron, right? Where is that diamond ring? It's a five carat diamond ring, and it's more than enough to pay all the debt. Where is it?” He asked curiously.

Hollis quickly averted his gaze since he’d already pawned the ring for a measly one thousand dollars.

“What are you saying? A pauper like you can afford a five-carat diamond? Don't be delusional!” He mocked, “Officers, please take him away.” He ordered.

Just as the office dragged him along, the hospital guard stopped them.

“Not so fast. You have to keep your end of the challenge and apologize to me.” He reminded me.

Max wished the ground would just open up and swallow him, but that wasn't happening. In the end, he bowed in front of him and apologized while everyone else laughed at his pain before the police eventually dragged him along.

TWO DAYS LATER

“Ouch!” Max winced at the pain of being kicked on the stomach, waking him from his sleep on the cold floor of the Primrose County police cell.

He slowly opened his eyes to see a policeman standing over him.

“Lucky you! Someone's here to bail you out.” The officer spat.

With much hesitation and discomfort, Max rose to his feet, dragging his feet out of the cell to see his savior.

‘I bet Aria finally came back to her senses.’ he thought to himself, believing no one could come to his rescue aside from her.

For the past two days, Max was beaten and starved for not being able to bail himself out. The pain was evident in the physical bruises on his body as well as the internal pain he felt in his muscles.

His head injury has reopened, but no one cared about that.

“Greet your savior,” Chief Rawlings, who was the department chief of Police, instructed as he walked towards him.

Max sluggishly raised his head, and his eyes snapped open at the sight of his ‘savior’.