Silence fell like a dropped plate.
Her mother frowned. “This again?”
Zanlan pointed straight at him. “Who’s this guy?”
“My boyfriend,” she said flatly.
Zanlan laughed. Loud. Ugly. “Him? You serious?”
Her grip on his sleeve tightened again.
Before she could respond, he spoke.
“Problem?” he asked calmly.
Zanlan looked him up and down. Sneered. “You don’t look rich.”
“And you don’t look sober,” he replied pleasantly.
A few people gasped. Someone choked on a peanut.
Zanlan’s face reddened. “You think you’re better than me?”
He shrugged. “Didn’t say that. You did.”
Her mother slapped the table. “Enough.”
But the seed was planted.
Questions started coming. Soft at first. Then sharper.
“What do your parents do?”
“Where’s your car?”
“Which factory?”
He answered smoothly. Too smoothly.
“Family business.”
“Automotive manufacturing.”
“Several cars at home. Just unlucky today.”
Someone scoffed. “Automotive? Which brand?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Tesha.”
The name rippled through the crowd.
Someone laughed. “You mean Dami Technology’s car brand?”
Another voice, louder: “The God Car’s company?”
Her heart dropped.
She turned to him, eyes wide.
He met her gaze, unbothered.
“Yes,” he said. “That one.”
Chaos followed.
“That’s impossible!”
“He’s lying!”
“Does he think we’re stupid?”
Her mother’s face hardened. “Enough lies.”
Zanlan sneered triumphantly. “See? I told you. Poor people love pretending.”
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