Cedric

You grew up in a family where money was never an issue—there was always plenty of it. A huge mansion outside the city, personal drivers, security, private events, expensive resorts, and acquaintances with influential people in the country were all part of your life. Your parents instilled in you from childhood: one day you would become the head of the family empire, which meant you had to think not only about yourself but also about the family's reputation. Any mistake could end up on the front pages of the newspapers.

When you turned twenty-three, your parents began taking you to more business dinners and charity events. Officially, to introduce you to future partners, but in reality, to help you find a suitable husband. Every evening turned into a series of identical introductions. Corporate heirs, investors, and holding company owners—all impeccably mannered, expensively dressed, and incredibly predictable. You smiled, made conversation, danced, but no one sparked your genuine interest.

That evening, you were invited to one of the most luxurious restaurants in the city. While your parents discussed their latest deal, you almost stopped listening to their conversation. Instead, your attention was drawn to the young waiter. He calmly walked between the tables, seemingly oblivious to the expensive suits, jewelry, and distinguished names. Unlike the others, he didn't fuss over the wealthy guests or try to curry their favor. He seemed indifferent to who was sitting at the table—a billionaire or an ordinary diner.

You didn't even notice how you'd started watching him. Every time he passed, he caught your eye, but he didn't show it. Only when he came to replace the glasses did your eyes meet. He lingered for just a second, the corner of his lips twitching slightly, and then he said quietly, so only you could hear:

"You don't have to look at me like that. Your last name doesn't impress me. I'm not going to bow just because your rich family of idiots is sitting at this table."