They both stared at me like I'd grown a second head. The room fell so goddamn quiet I could hear the fridge humming behind me.
Clarissa's painted lips twitched, her smug composure slipping. The man—Mr. D'Aragon—straightened, slowly setting his wine glass down on the coffee table, his sharp gaze now fixed on her like a predator watching a wounded deer.
"Clarissa," he said, voice smooth but laced with quiet danger, "is it true that Elysia is married?"
I could almost hear her gulp.
She opened her mouth, floundering for words. "I—it's not what it seems, Victor. That… that boy," she spat the word like poison, waving a trembling hand at me, "he's lying. He's been living here off my daughter's kindness. A leech. He's nothing. We've been trying to get rid of him—"
But I was already shaking my head, chuckling under my breath as I leaned against the fridge. "A leech?" I scoffed. "So now I'm a parasite, Clarissa? You're switching metaphors faster than your daughter switches men."
Before she could claw her way out of that mess, footsteps echoed from the stairs.
Elysia appeared, silk robe tied loosely around her waist, her bare legs smooth and glowing in the morning light. She took one look at the living room—Clarissa's stiff frame, Mr. D'Aragon's narrowed eyes, and me casually leaning against the fridge—and I swear I saw her whole expression tighten.
She didn't look surprised. No, she looked inconvenienced.
"I didn't expect you to come so early," she purred, walking down the steps with the grace of a damn queen descending to her peasants. She caught her mother's panicked glance and then turned to me with a face full of practiced scorn.
"You damned fool," she said, voice cold, sharp, venomous. "Your mates are off to work by six in the morning. And you? You're here, still eating your ass through my fortune."
Her words hit like glass to the chest, but I didn't even flinch. I'd bled too long to react to paper cuts now.
She turned to Mr. D'Aragon, her expression softening instantly like flipping a switch. "Baby, did his presence upset you?"
But I didn't give him a chance to answer.
"Yeah," I said, stepping away from the fridge, voice steady, eyes boring into her. "And other women don't cheat on their husbands."
That froze her.
Just for a second, I saw it—that twitch in her jaw, the crack in her mask. But she was too good at playing the game.
"Ex-husband," she corrected coldly, taking another step toward her precious Victor.
I laughed bitterly. "Oh, now I'm your ex? Is that how it works, Elysia? You hide the ring, bury the paperwork, parade around with your shiny new wallet of a man, and rewrite history as you go?"
Victor D'Aragon stood up now, brows furrowed.
"Elysia," he said, his voice no longer smooth. "Is that true? Are you married… still married?"
She didn't answer him immediately. Her eyes stayed on me—like if she stared hard enough, I'd just combust.
Then, slowly, she turned back to him, lips parting—
And I spoke again before she could lie.
"She wears his ring when you're not around. I saw it. Twelve karat, right? That's not something you pick up at a flea market."
Mr. D'Aragon's gaze turned stone cold.
Clarissa looked like she might throw up.
I stepped forward, every inch of my breath finally steady, inhaler still clenched in my hand like a weapon I survived with.
"You're sitting in my chair," I said calmly, "sipping tea from my mug, kissing the woman I married. But don't worry, Mr. D'Aragon. You're just another ghost in a long line of men Elysia's used to crawl her way up."
Elysia snarled. "Don't you dare—"
"Don't I dare?" I barked back. "You brought this man into our home, while I still slept in our bed. You really thought you'd get away with it?"
She stepped closer, fury radiating off her. "You're nothing, Arthur. A failed bartender choking on your own pity. You think this makes you strong? Coming down here and throwing a tantrum like a dog without a leash?"
I smiled slowly.
"No, Elysia. This is me cutting the leash."
I turned to Victor, gave him a polite nod. "Good luck with your fiancée. She's a handful. Hope you've got a stronger heart than I do." I knew I was going to be thrown out to the streets anyways, but did I care? A bit...
But this sort of humiliation, I had definitely had enough of it, after all, the world was going to end, so why endure it?
*******
"Hey, pass me that apron over there." I said, motioning towards the hook that had a worn out apron hung on it without much thinking.
My hand was halfway to the hook when it registered to me that the person who usually worked in front of the apron hook was no longer there.
That was when I instinctively turned around and something felt off right away. The place was quiet—too quiet for a bar that operated 24/7 with crowd of customers barging in and out drinking.
Today, it was oddly empty with just only a couple of two drunk guys lying on the floor near the jukebox half broken. My eyes fell on the front door which I casually walked into without noticing half of the glass door was broken with shreds of glass all over the floor.
I made my way toward the counter, only to find Jeremy slouched over it, nursing a black eye with a cotton wool dipped in alcohol and the last bit of cold coffee in a chipped mug on the counter. He sneezed into a handkerchief, wiped it on his nose and dropped it on the counter.
I stared at the crumpled handkerchief for a second, then blinked. It had three thick drops of blood which stained the fabric and I glanced up instinctively—and that's when I saw it.
A slow, steady trickle of blood was slipping from Jeremy's left nostril, making its way down his upper lip. "Hey," I said, nodding at him, "You got some blood in your nose."
He sniffed hard—bad move though because that just made more of it spill out, and now he was blinking like the room was tilting sideways. "Shit," he muttered, reaching for the handkerchief again, but I grabbed a fresh napkin from the bar and handed it to him instead.
"Thanks man, nosebleed just sucks. Damn, is it just me or here is cold?" Jeremy tossed his gaze at the air cooler behind him. It wasn't on either and neither could it be the atmosphere cause they were in mid-summer.
I tapped his shoulder, cringing at the oddly cold temperature of his neck. I wiped my hand on my shirt and looked around once again. "What happened here?"
Jeremy turned and gave me a tired look. His arms in the short sleeves was bruised. "What is it, man?" he said. "Didn't you see the sign out front?"
"There was no sign."
He snorted. "Well, there was one. Maybe the wind took it. Doesn't matter now. The bar's shut down."
"What do you mean shut down?"
He leaned back and rubbed his face. "Last night, right after you left early, some guys broke in. Wore masks. Had bats. Smashed their way into the cellar, stole all the liquor, took the money from the counter, and beat up Raphael."
My stomach dropped. "Is Raphael okay?"
"He'll live. He was rushed to the hospital." Jeremy said. "Boss came in early this morning, saw the mess, and fired everyone."
My mouth fell open. "Shit, that serious? Even me?"
Jeremy nodded toward the shelf behind the bar. "Top shelf. Second envelope from the right. Your name's on it." I just gave a weak smile and I moved behind the bar slowly, then pass the broken cellar and to the cabinet above.
My fingers found the envelope easily, the paper slightly damp and roughened at the edges. I picked it up, and sniffed in. It had my name scrawled in the boss's jagged handwriting: Arthur.
I tore it open.
Inside was a slip of paper folded twice and a thin wad of bills. Not enough to last a week, but enough to make sure the country labor's forces don't sue him for not paying off his workers.
"Sorry. Nothing personal. I could a better work somewhere and I had to sell off this rusty bar. Find something else... —M."
I stared at the words, reading them over and over, but they didn't change.
I was fired. I chuckled, squeezing the letter and throwing it into the trash bin. I pulled out a seat from the counter and sat down, resting my head on the counter. "What is your next plan huh?"
Jeremy sighed, running his hand through his hair. "Not sure man, hospital bill is eating my life, loan debt after my life. Just don't know what to even do right now. Might as well commit suicide. What about you bruh? What am I saying, you are the husband to a rich billionaire wife."
"Nah..."
"So you're telling me… you've got no job, no home, and no rich wife anymore? Damn, we are pathetic. Cheers, brother!"