2025-04-21 07:36:59Freddy Blanks.
The name alone was enough to make Gerald clench his jaw. If Alex was the betrayal that cut the deepest, Freddy was the one who sharpened the blade. Gerald’s hatred for the guy had risen to new levels ever since finding out from Freddy that he was the reason Susan had been poached from him by Alex, and everything had been part of a grand scheme to humiliate Gerald for refusing to fall in line and become one of his loyal, mindless followers.
Freddy couldn’t stand people he couldn’t control. And seeing as Gerald had made it clear he was one of those people, it was obvious Freddy had made it his life’s mission to ruin him every chance he got.
And that made him public enemy number one.
It didn’t surprise Gerald that Freddy had been made MC of the party. The guy was energetic, funny, charismatic, and undeniably entertaining. He had the crowd wrapped around his finger like some hyped-up ringmaster, orchestrating laughter at anyone’s expense— but especially Gerald’s.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Freddy grinned from the stage, mic in hand. “Let’s all take a moment to appreciate Gerald’s… bold fashion choices. I mean, give it up for someone who spent under a hundred bucks on his outfit and still had the guts to show up to a party like this!”
The crowd burst into laughter. People clapped and cackled like hyenas.
Amara was the loudest. “Honestly, Gerald should be out helping the servers, not sitting at a guest table,” she scoffed, flicking her hair over her shoulder.
Gerald’s fingers curled into fists beneath the tablecloth. He didn’t look like money. That was the point. But what they saw as cheap was a multi-layered secret.
He wasn’t wearing random streetwear. His outfit had come straight from Crimson & Crown, tucked away in the ultra-exclusive section of the store where only the wealthiest of the wealthy dared to peek.
The jeans? Founder’s edition Giorgio Armani, with real diamond buttons sewn onto the back pockets. Price tag? $45,000.
The T-shirt? A limited release from the same brand, simple yet rare. $20,000.
His sneakers? Custom Kobe Bryant collab. Only twenty pairs made. Each sold at $30,000.
Total outfit? $95,000. And that was being conservative.
But of course, they didn’t know that. To them, simplicity equaled poverty.
Gerald kept silent. He knew his moment would come. And he would wait for it.
He glanced at Freddy’s overhyped, ill-fitted designer suit— an exact replica of one he’d seen hanging for $4,800 at Crimson & Crown. Yet Freddy had been boasting all evening that it cost fifty grand. A blatant lie. But no one questioned him. No one dared.
Because when the rich talked, everyone listened.
And Gerald? In their eyes, he was nothing more than a joke.
He remained quiet. Because tonight, he had a bullet. Just one. And it would hit where it mattered most.
Juliet sat beside him, her expression dark, her body tense. Her gaze darted between Freddy, Amara, and Gerald, visibly upset. She didn’t find it funny. Not one bit. She looked embarrassed— for Gerald, for herself, and for the entire crowd who thought cruelty equaled entertainment.
The evening continued with the gift presentations.
Alex and Susan strutted forward, all smiles and swagger. Freddy hyped them up like they were royalty. “And now,” Freddy announced, “the king and queen of Gen-Z generosity!”
Juliet, Terry and Gerald all gagged internally.
Alex smirked, holding out a silver key. “Professor Dalton, we got you something fitting for a man of your status, a brand new Tesla Cybertruck.”
Gasps and claps exploded across the hall. Cameras flashed. People clinked glasses.
Of course, it made sense. Alex’s dad was worth half a billion. An $80,000 car was pocket change.
Professor Dalton beamed, clapping Alex on the shoulder. “You’re a fine young man. Always been one of our brightest.”
Other guests followed, their gifts just as extravagant—watches, paintings, trips to private islands. Nothing under $20,000.
Gerald stayed seated, his hands folded, his expression unreadable. He was waiting. For the perfect moment.
But Freddy wasn’t done with him yet.
As the laughter died down, Freddy raised the mic again. “Alright, everyone, let’s settle. We have… a special uninvited guest who still hasn’t presented their gift.”
The crowd turned toward Gerald like wolves sensing prey.
Freddy smirked. “Come on, Gerald. You must have brought something for Professor Dalton. I mean, you eat his food, drink his wine, hang out with his daughter. Surely you brought a little something—unless, of course, you’re just freeloading again.”
Laughter. Louder this time. Even some adults chuckled.
Gerald sat still. His blood burned, but he gave no reaction.
Juliet stood suddenly, slamming her hand on the table. “That’s enough, Freddy!”
The hall went still.
“He’s not a leech,” she said firmly. “So what if he doesn’t have a gift today? One day, Gerald will be so rich, he’ll give gifts no one here could even dream of affording!”
Her voice didn’t tremble. Her eyes were full of fire. But the crowd… laughed even harder.
“Yeah, right,” Amara sneered. “The only thing Gerald will be giving out is resumes Juliet, save your breath.”
Juliet’s heart dropped. She hadn’t just embarrassed Gerald—she’d humiliated herself. She felt a bitter taste in her mouth. It was reactions like this that led her to have close friends who didn’t run in the same circles as she was brought up in. They were all so fake and superficial, and mean. This was the perfect example.
Professor Dalton finally intervened, raising his hand. “Juliet, please. Sit. Let’s see if Gerald has a gift or not.”
Everyone refocused their attention on him.
Gerald rose slowly, brushing invisible lint off his shirt. He walked toward the podium, eyes forward, face calm.
But just as he reached the stage, Freddy struck again.
“Wait, wait, wait!” Freddy called out, stealing back the mic. “Before Gerald blesses us, I have my gift to announce.”
The attention snapped to Freddy like a rubber band.
“Tomorrow, my father signs a $450 million deal with Aventos Bank—yes, that Aventos. This deal will elevate my family to a whole new level. And guess what? With that kind of connection, we’ll be rolling with the Arnold family, the most powerful family in this country.”
Applause thundered. The crowd went wild.
Amara’s jaw dropped. She took a proper look at Freddy for the first time, the wheels in her head already turning, figuring out how she could get close to him.
He winked. “If anyone wants funding, investment, or sponsorship, just call me. I’ll hook you up.”
“Freddy! Freddy! Freddy!” People began chanting.
Freddy smiled and waved, soaking it all in, not caring that Gerald was just standing there awkwardly because of him.
And Gerald?
He just stood there, watching.
Because the boy boasting on stage had no idea he was name-dropping Gerald’s own family.
He was going to Aventos Bank too the following day. But not to sit in a waiting room like Freddy and his father; no, he’d be walking through executive-only doors, because the Arnolds owned that bank.
And Gerald was an Arnold.
He smiled quietly to himself.
Yes, Freddy. We’ll meet at Aventos Bank tomorrow.
But you won’t be standing above me then.
You’ll be the one looking up.
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Gerald was left there lying in the grass. The crowd dispersed, people crossed over him, no one offered a hand. The laughter echoed in his ears like his own personal humiliation playlist.It wasn’t just the betrayal or the beating—it was the shame, the mockery, the way Susan had looked him in the eye and denied knowing him like he was some worthless stray.His friends—Terry and Juliet— soon came, harried and frantic. They pushed through the crowd, panicked and breathless, only to find their friend on the ground, bloodied and silent.“Gerald! Oh my God! Gerald, can you hear me?” Juliet cried out as she cradled his head.Gerald couldn't respond. His head was spinning, his vision blurry, his hearing distorted.Terry didn't waste time, he flagged down a cab and together, he and Juliet got him to the hospital. His wounds were cleaned and stitched, but still Gerald said nothing. He lay there staring blankly at the ceiling, his mind spiraling into a thousand places at once— but always returni
