Zero: God Of Mercenary

Chapter 11: Facade

Gasps rippled through the crowd, astonished by the exchange between them.

Rebecca, known for her beauty and constant refusals, showing up with a “nobody”?

“Trash? He’s far better than you,” Rebecca shot back, folding her arms and staring Jay down. “And where are your manners?”

Jay sneered. “Manners? I only show those to people who deserve them. Clearly not this poor loser.”

He retorted, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “But I’m curious — Why are you even with this guy? Did you find him online and hire him for the night”

Laughter echoed from the other guests, nodding in agreement.

It made sense; Rebecca would go to such lengths to avoid a real relationship.

Jay continued, his tone mocking.

“Really, Rebecca if you’re going to hire someone, couldn’t you set your standards a little higher? Even the janitors here are dressed better than him!”

“You should have hired me instead of him, Rebecca. I’m the one who truly matches your vibe. This old man couldn't event satisfy you.”

But Rebecca didn’t spare Jay another look, calmly handing the invitation card to the staff.

"Hey, are you playing deaf now?!" Frustrated, Jay reached to grab Rebecca’s arm.

A hand shot out, blocking him effortlessly.

Jay looked up, meeting Oliver’s gaze.

The intensity in Oliver’s eyes was like nothing Jay had ever seen. Just one look, and Jay froze, feeling an instinctive chill that rooted him in place!

The staff welcomed they two inside. Rebecca handed off the car keys to the valet, and glanced back at Oliver with a hesitant smile.

“Sorry for the invitation... I mean, you’re supposed to be my boyfriend for tonight. So… can I just call you Oliver?”

“Sure,” Oliver replied, smiling. “It’d be strange for your ‘boyfriend’ to be called ‘Sir.’”

Rebecca laughed lightly. She glanced around and gestured to a side door.

“Let’s head to the dressing room first.”

“Dressing room? Why?”

Rebecca pulled a bag from her side. “I knew you wouldn’t dress up for something like this, so I got you a suit—and some shaving cream. Would you mind using it?”

Impressed by her thoughtfulness, Oliver nodded.

“Sure. Not for the party, but because you thought of it.”

He slipped into the dressing room, donning the crisp black-and-white suit and tidying up with the shaving cream.

A few moments later, he stepped out, feeling like a slightly different man.

“What do you think?” he asked, his tone low.

Rebecca was momentarily speechless, her eyes widened, “You look… really handsome, and familiar.”

Oliver tilted his head. “You think so?”

“Yeah, it’s like I’ve seen you somewhere before…”

Oliver chuckled. “Probably on your bank documents?”

Rebecca blinked, laughing. “Could be. Shall we go?”

He offered his arm, and she took it, her smile bright. As they entered, all eyes turned to them, whispers quickly spreading.

“Who is he? I’ve never seen him here.”

“Look at that suit—definitely custom-made.”

“Rebecca’s with him. Lucky woman, snagging someone like him.”

Rebecca laughed under her breath. “Seems you’re the star here.”

“Only because I’m with you,” Oliver replied, with a quiet smile.

As they moved through the room, Oliver caught sight of some familiar faces from past gatherings with Trisha and even spotted a few high-ranking politicians and military officials.

“That group, they’re from out of town?” Oliver asked.

Rebecca nodded. “Celebrities and high-status folks flock here from everywhere—even from the Capital.”

As he scanned the crowd, his gaze settled on a man in a stylish gray suit, surrounded by admirers, mostly women.

“Who’s he?” Oliver asked, watching the man charm his audience.

Rebecca’s tone shifted to a low murmur.

"That's Zayne Greensmith, a high-ranking officer from the Capital. He comes here sometimes; this is his hometown."

Oliver studied Zayne, who seemed warm and friendly - but something in his eyes felt off, unsettling.

Then, suddenly, Zayne’s gaze met his.

Unlike the welcoming vibe he gave his admirers, Zayne’s stare now held something darker, almost like a challenge aimed right at Oliver.

Meanwhile, Trisha entered the restaurant on Denver's arm, laughing as she took in the elegant interiors and the crowd of rich, influential guests.

Glancing around, she noticed a few heads turning.

"They must think I look beautiful," She thought, lifting her hands adorned with flashy rings and bracelets.

She didn’t realize it was the jewelry itself that had caught attention—and not in a good way.

It looked terrible with her expensive dress.

The excessive sparkle clashed with her expensive dress, making her appear like she was trying too hard to fit in.

Many thought she was trying to climb the social ladder, even though the Henverton family was well-known in their town.

“Denver, Trisha! Over here!” Jay called out, spotting them. He was actually one of Denver’s close friends.

“You look pissed. What’s up?”

Denver asked, furrowing his brow in concern.

“I had a run-in with some pauper,” Jay sneered. “When I see him here, I’m gonna make sure he’s dead on this place.”

“Yeah, those pathetic folks are like termites,” Denver agreed, casting Trisha a disapproving glance. “Just like your ex-husband.”

He clenched his fists, recalling the sting of the punch Oliver had landed on him, knocking him out cold.

"Wait—that’s the guy who messed with me earlier,"

Jay muttered, pointing across the room where Rebecca was talking with some guests.

"Where?" Trisha asked, following Jay's gaze.

Her eyes widened, and her face went pale.

"Oh my God," she gasped. "Oliver? This motherfucker's haunting me."