Rebate King: Every Beauty I Spoil Makes Me a Billionaire

”Please, Young Master Harrison.” Grayson gestured with an open hand, his tone carrying none of the stiffness it held for other men.

Stan settled into his chair with a small, puzzled smile. He had turned the invitation over in his mind a dozen times on the way here, and still couldn’t make sense of it. Grayson wasn’t a man who wasted extravagance on idle pleasantries, yet here they sat, and not a word of business had crossed his lips.

The silence, however, did nothing to dull Stan’s appetite. Whatever Grayson’s intentions, the food in front of him was extraordinary.

He reached for his chopsticks, set aside his questions, and ate with the unguarded ease of a man who had decided the explanation could wait until after dessert.

Outside the Wan Hai Hotel, the evening air carried the distant hum of the city.

Kyle Jennings stepped out of his car with the easy arrogance of a man accustomed to turning heads. A dozen bodyguards fanned out behind him, black-suited and broad-shouldered, drawing glances from passersby who instinctively stepped aside.

He had been patient. Ever since the humiliation at Maya Zimmerman’s birthday banquet, where Stan Harrison had not only embarrassed him publicly but somehow walked away with both Maya and Xenia, Kyle had been quietly nursing his grievance, waiting for the right moment.

Tonight, it seemed, that moment had arrived.

”You’re certain he’s inside?” Kyle asked, straightening his cuffs, not looking at the man beside him.

”Positive, Brother Kyle. He walked in about forty minutes ago.” the man in black replied without hesitation.

Kyle’s jaw tightened. ”Spending money like it’s nothing. Typical.” He rolled his neck and started toward the entrance. ”Today I’ll remind him that there are people in this city he should never have crossed.”

”How do you want us to handle him?” the bodyguard asked, keeping pace.

”Simple. Rough him up enough that he remembers it. Nothing more, nothing less.” Kyle didn’t slow his stride. ”A lesson, not a funeral.”

”Understood.”

He had already taken care of the practical details, a generous sum slipped to a hotel employee, with a promise that any damaged door would be repaired before management noticed. Kyle Jennings was hot-headed, but he wasn’t careless.

They took the elevator to the fifth floor and walked down the corridor toward Room 506.

When they arrived, Kyle didn’t bother knocking. At a subtle glance from him, one of the burly guards stepped forward and drove his foot into the door.

BANG!!!

The door flew open under the force of the kick.

”Stan Harrison, you—”

The words died in his throat.

The private room was warm with the amber glow of pendant lights, the table laid with dishes that hadn’t been ordered from any standard menu.

Across from Stan Harrison, leaning back in his chair with the relaxed authority of a man who owned the building, because he did, was Grayson Davies.

Chairman of the Wanhai Group.

Kyle had met him perhaps three times in his life, and each of those meetings had required weeks of careful arrangement through intermediaries. The man didn’t dine with just anyone. He certainly didn’t laugh with just anyone.

And yet here he sat, mid-conversation with Stan Harrison, looking entirely at ease.

The silence that followed stretched for exactly one second, but to Kyle, it felt considerably longer.

’What the fuck?! What on earth is Stan Harrison?!’

The question detonated quietly in his chest. His palms went cold.

Beside him, one of his men, oblivious to the shift in atmosphere, opened his mouth.

”Which one of you is Stan Harri—”

SMACK-!!!

Kyle’s hand connected with the side of the man’s face before the sentence could finish. Sharp. Deliberate.

The bodyguard reeled, pressing a hand to his cheek, eyes wide. ”Brother Kyle, what was that for? We came here to—”

SMACK-!!!!

The second blow landed harder than the first. The room went very quiet.

Every remaining bodyguard suddenly found somewhere else to look. Nobody breathed.

”Say one more word,” Kyle said, his voice barely above a murmur, ”and I will make you deeply regret it.”

The man wisely closed his mouth.

”All of you. Out.” Kyle jerked his head toward the corridor without turning around.

The group that had arrived with such swagger dissolved into the hallway like smoke, the door swinging shut behind them.

Kyle straightened, smoothed the front of his jacket, and turned to face the room, forcing a nervous smile.

Grayson Davies was watching him with a gaze like cold water, still, clear, and dangerous.

”Who are you,” Grayson said evenly, ”and what do you think you’re doing in my hotel?”

It wasn’t really a question.

Kyle’s mind moved fast. Every exit he could think of closed itself off, one by one, until a single option remained. It was thin. It was humiliating. But it was the only play that might actually work.

He crossed the room and turned to face Stan Harrison.

”Young Master Harrison.” He lowered his head, not a slight nod, but a genuine bow. ”I behaved disgracefully the other night. I came tonight specifically to apologize.”

The sincerity in his voice surprised even him.

Grayson studied him for a moment, then let out a short, unimpressed sound.

”Then you’ve apologized. Get lost!”

Kyle didn’t hesitate. He turned on his heel and walked out with whatever dignity he had left.

The elevator doors closed.

Kyle leaned against the mirrored wall and exhaled, a long, unsteady breath that seemed to empty him completely. He looked down at his hands. His palms were slick with sweat. He could feel the dampness spreading across the back of his shirt.

His reflection stared back at him.

’Stan Harrison.’

The man had shown up to Maya’s birthday with no entourage, no obvious wealth, nothing to suggest he was anything other than a minor inconvenience. Kyle had treated him accordingly. He had laughed at him, even.

And the whole time, Grayson Davies had apparently known his name.

”I nearly walked into a wall I couldn’t see,” Kyle muttered to himself, shaking his head slowly.