Seraphina Quinn had already witnessed Damian Fairchild's cruelty. She would never beg him.
Her gaze lingered on him for only a second before she pulled it away, turning to Rosalind Grant. "Does what you just said still stand?"
Rosalind Grant raised an eyebrow. "My word is gold."
As she finished speaking, Landon Morgan, whose expression was already sour, spoke coldly to Seraphina Quinn. "Can't you see she's humiliating you?"
Seraphina Quinn sneered. "And how are you any better than her?"
After the Quinn Family went bankrupt and was buried in debt, Landon Morgan had sought her out more than once.
He told her his engagement to Rosalind Grant was just a family alliance, that Seraphina was his one true love, and he hoped she would be his mistress.
After she refused, he resorted to any means necessary to cut off her income. Every job she found, she would be fired within a few days.
To force her into becoming his mistress, he had made it so that she, a brilliant student who had been in a combined Master's and PhD program at Stanford, could now only survive on odd jobs.
In a way, she almost admired Rosalind Grant's personality—how she was clear about who she loved and who she hated.
Her gaze fell back on Rosalind Grant.
"Rosalind Grant, I didn't want him five years ago, and I still don't want him now. So, you don't have to see me as your rival."
It was precisely because Rosalind Grant knew Seraphina Quinn looked down on Landon Morgan that his deep affection for Seraphina—and his heartlessness toward her—seemed all the more pronounced, which only made her more jealous of Seraphina.
"Nice words, but who knows if you're not secretly selling yourself to him behind my back..."
Rosalind Grant's words were vile.
But Seraphina Quinn replied nonchalantly, "I'd sell myself to anyone before I'd sell myself to him."
Rosalind Grant's expression remained dark. "I don't believe you. Unless you kneel and offer me a toast right now!"
"Miss Grant!"
A man with a tall and imposing figure was descending the spiral staircase.
As he approached, he carried with him such a sharp, powerful aura that everyone in the banquet hall unconsciously held their breath.
All eyes once again fell on this mysterious and powerful figure—unfamiliar, yet radiating an air of prominence.
No one there knew his origins, including Rosalind Grant.
But subconsciously, everyone felt he must be a new magnate in the business world, one whose power could blot out the sky.
'Who is he?'
Rosalind Grant looked at him. "Who are you?"
The handsome but stern-faced man glanced at her and said with a smile, "You're not qualified to know."
Rosalind Grant's face darkened, her embarrassment turning to rage.
"What? Are you another one of Seraphina Quinn's lovers? You'd better be careful. You might catch some filthy disease and not even know it..."
It wasn't that Damian Fairchild had never seen a vulgar and arrogant woman before.
But this was the first time he'd so despised hearing such vile words come from a woman's mouth.
His expression was glacial, a biting chill hidden in the depths of his eyes, yet his voice was mild and calm.
"I'm not sure if she has any filthy diseases. However, if Miss Grant can't control her tongue and keeps spreading rumors, I'd be happy to help by having it cut out."
On the Grant Family's own turf, at the Grant Group heiress's engagement party no less, he was arrogant enough to threaten to cut out Rosalind Grant's tongue. This made everyone all the more curious about Damian Fairchild's mysterious identity.
Likewise, Rosalind Grant felt her confidence waver.
She was furious but didn't dare to speak.
Instead, Landon Morgan, who stood beside her, walked toward Damian Fairchild and ventured a guess.
"Are you my grandfather's guest? The new head of the Fairchild Consortium from Kingsland, Mr. Fairchild... is that you?"
But Damian Fairchild didn't even spare him a glance before retracting his gaze.
His handsome face was covered in a thick layer of frost, and his gaze toward Seraphina Quinn was just as cold.
He gripped Seraphina Quinn's chin with one hand, while his other used a handkerchief to wipe the still-wet red wine stains from her face. He then delivered his merciless verdict to her:
"You can be without self-respect, you can be without shame, but on one condition: the only one who gets to humiliate you is me. Understand?"
After gently wiping all the wine stains from her face, he gestured to Ivy Sharp, who was trying to make herself small off to the side.
"You, come here."
Ivy Sharp wasn't stupid. Landon Morgan had just said he was the boss of the Fairchild Consortium—a name that struck fear into the hearts of the entire business world of the Empire.
Although she didn't know what history this man had with Seraphina Quinn, it was obvious he was about to stand up for her.
At this thought, Ivy Sharp was seized with terror.
Her voice was timid. "Mr... M-Mr. Fairchild, w-why did you call me over?"
Damian Fairchild's voice was unhurried, as calm and casual as if he were making small talk. "Is Harold Sharp your father?"
Ivy Sharp kept her head down, her voice trembling. "Y-Yes..."
"Then do you know how his hand was ruined? And why he's hospitalized but doesn't dare tell anyone the reason?"
Ivy Sharp realized something.
She lifted her head, looking at Damian Fairchild in terror, but quickly lowered it again. Her tone trembled. "I-I'm sorry, Mr. Fairchild, I... I didn't know Seraphina Quinn was your... woman."
"You're mistaken."
"She's not my woman."
"She is my... wife's servant."
"Barely a dog of the Fairchild Family, you could say."
"However, even when you beat a dog, you have to consider its master. So tell me, since you bullied my dog, how should I punish you?"
Tears streamed down Ivy Sharp's face in fear. "Mr. Fairchild, it's all my fault, a thousand times my fault. It was my big mouth..."
Damian Fairchild smiled faintly. "A big mouth? Then shouldn't it be slapped?"
Ivy Sharp froze for a moment, then quickly realized he was telling her to slap herself.
With that, Ivy Sharp threw caution to the wind. Ignoring the strange looks from the crowd, she began to slap her own face.
Damian Fairchild, however, no longer looked at her. Instead, his gaze fell on Seraphina Quinn's face. "I said you were my dog. You don't seem very happy about that?"
Seraphina Quinn felt as if her jaw was about to be crushed by his grip.
As she reached up to pry his hand away, Damian Fairchild spoke again:
"Being my dog has more dignity than being Mr. Morgan's mistress. At least you won't be forced to your knees like you are now!"
Seraphina Quinn's eyes reddened, a thick film of moisture welling up.
'Why did I ever expect anything from this bastard?'
'He might as well be dead!'
She bit down hard on her lip, so hard that deep teeth marks appeared, before letting out a short, sharp laugh.
"You just hate that I kicked you away like a dog back then, don't you? Is that why you have to humiliate me so shamelessly?"
Damian Fairchild leaned in close, breathing a hot wisp of air against her ear. "Not necessarily. But seeing you like a dog... is very amusing."
Seraphina Quinn trembled with rage.
But now, how could she possibly be a match for the Crown Prince of the all-powerful Fairchild Consortium?
She lowered her head as tears finally spilled from her eyes.
She was silent and subdued, subdued and debased.
'My son is still waiting for the money to save his life. Compared to my son's life, what is this little bit of humiliation?'
Whether it was kneeling to Rosalind Grant or being Damian Fairchild's dog, there was no difference. Both meant being trampled on and humiliated.
After a long silence, Seraphina Quinn finally raised her head.
By now, her eyes were just red, devoid of any other emotion.
She stared at Damian Fairchild without blinking. "You'll get what's coming to you for treating me like this!"
The man leaned in, whispering in her ear, "Listen to you, with all your tough talk. It's almost as if you secretly had my son, giving you so much confidence and nerve."