The Seven Sisters and Their Hidden King-Chapter 137 – A Private Party
Chapter 137 - 137 – A Private Party
The private party was in full swing.
Amidst the buzz of clinking glasses and murmured conversations, two guests stood out—not for their elegance, but for their complete disregard of it.
A young man and a young woman hovered around the buffet like they hadn't eaten in days.
The man, in particular, was a spectacle. He didn't even bother to sit down—just held the plate in one hand and shoveled food into his mouth with the other, shamelessly devouring everything within reach.
It was John.
And beside him, though trying to maintain a shred of decorum, was Queenie.
Their presence—and their attire—were wildly out of sync with the formality of the event. Everyone else was dressed in suits and cocktail gowns. These two looked like they'd wandered in from a lazy afternoon stroll.
Earlier, Queenie had tried to convince John not to come at all.
"This party is nothing but a power play," she'd warned him. "Carlos wants to humiliate you."
But John had insisted. In fact, he had gone so far as to hide the invitation from Queenie to stop her from tearing it up in protest.
And now here they were.
Queenie watched in disbelief as John continued to gorge himself. "Can you at least try to act civilized?" she hissed.
John, mid-bite, shrugged. "Why bother? We're surrounded by thieves."
Her eyes widened—then narrowed. And after a brief pause, she picked up a plate herself.
For a few minutes, she joined him, venting her frustration on the food. But after a few bites, she slowed down—she was still a lady, after all.
John, on the other hand, seemed possessed. He tore through the buffet like a man on a mission.
Eventually, his behavior drew attention.
A middle-aged man in a suit—clearly an executive—stormed over with a scowl on his face. "Excuse me," he said sternly. "May I see your invitation?"
This was the Hanmi Group's department manager, tasked with ensuring order. From what he could see, these two didn't look like they belonged here.
Especially not that guy, who was attacking the shrimp cocktail like it owed him money.
John didn't even glance up. "Carlos invited us."
"Then surely you have an invitation?" the manager insisted.
John sighed through a mouthful. "You're annoying. Can't I eat in peace?"
The manager's expression darkened. "If you can't produce your invitation, I'll have to ask you to leave."
"Hard to do? Then don't do it!" John snapped, and with a swift kick, toppled the entire buffet table.
Dishes crashed to the floor. Food splattered across the carpet.
Gasps erupted throughout the hall.
Even Queenie jumped, startled by his sudden outburst—until she realized he was doing it on purpose.
As expected, the department manager was furious. He snapped his fingers, and several security guards surged forward.
A crowd quickly formed. Carlos, hearing the commotion, pushed his way through.
"What's going on?" he demanded.
The manager stepped forward. "Mr. Branton, these two refused to show their invitation. I suspected they were uninvited guests. And then this man overturned the buffet table."
Before Carlos could respond, a folded, oil-stained envelope flew through the air and slapped the manager across the face.
John wiped his greasy fingers and said calmly, "Isn't this the invitation you were so desperate to see? Why invite guests if you're going to treat them like gate crashers? Is this how Damon Group hosts its VIPs?"
The manager peeled the envelope off his face, red with embarrassment and anger. "If you had it, why didn't you just show it earlier?"
SLAP.
Carlos slapped the manager across the cheek.
"Idiot! You're blind. Apologize—now."
The manager clenched his jaw, face burning, but nodded stiffly. "I... I'm sorry for the misunderstanding."
Carlos waved the crowd away. "Nothing to see here."
Slowly, the onlookers dispersed, though the whispers didn't stop.
Once the noise died down, Carlos turned to John, flashing a cool smile. "You must be John. I got the message you sent through my sister. Something about 'God watching me'?"
John said nothing.
Carlos continued, "Let me save you some time—I don't believe in fate. I only believe in myself."
He had already done his homework.
John: orphan from Sunshine Welfare Center, Queenie's younger brother, reputed doctor in New York.
That was all he could dig up.
The rest was a mystery—and that irritated him.
Before John could speak, Queenie stepped forward, eyes cold.
"You have no shame," she said flatly.
Carlos chuckled, his gaze lingering far too long. "Why do you say that?"
"You know damn well why," Queenie snapped. "You stole our formula. You launched a product with it. And now you throw a party and pretend to be a gentleman?"
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Carlos didn't even flinch. "Miss Yeats, you wound me. I was only trying to ease your burden. A delicate woman like you shouldn't have to carry the pressure of running a company alone. You should be thanking me for stepping in."
"Shameless!" she spat.
Carlos laughed again. "You're even more charming when you're angry. How about a drink, just the two of us?"
Queenie's skin crawled. "Who would drink with a man like you?"
John finally spoke.
"Carlos," he said calmly, "you look happy tonight. You must be in a very good mood."
