Framed at My Cousin's Club

Tina's smug, self-satisfied look made my skin crawl.

I ignored her and turned to my guests, offering an apologetic smile.

"Everyone, I'm terribly sorry for the spectacle tonight. Let me take care of all tonight's expenses. Also, I have a hot spring villa on the outskirts of the city. Next weekend, please come by and relax. Consider it my way of making amends."

These were sharp, discerning people. They immediately understood that I was reclaiming face while subtly asserting my power. They all accepted politely, and the atmosphere eased noticeably.

After seeing my friends off, the hall was left with just me, Nick, and Tina, still hunched over her cash-counting.

Nick finally lost his restraint and came over, taking my hand.

"Jeff, don't do this. Let's go home and talk, okay? Don't be mad at me."

I pulled my hand away and looked at his face, a face that suddenly felt utterly alien.

"Nick, the moment you let her humiliate me in public, you should have realized—we're never going back."

"I didn't, I…" he stammered, desperate to defend himself.

Tina finally finished counting the money. She snapped the box shut, standing tall with a self-satisfied smirk, cutting him off.

"Nick, what's there to say to him? The money's paid. It's settled. People like your poor relative shouldn't come around—it only lowers Bosco's standards."

She looped her arm through his and gave me a provocative glance.

"Oh, and by the way," she said, pointing at the remaining box, "the other 212 thousand covers my emotional distress and apology fees for Nick. I won't be shy. I'm taking it all."

She reached for the box.

"Stop," I said coldly.

Two of my bodyguards stepped forward, blocking her path.

Her face shifted. "What? Changing your mind?"

"Not exactly," I said, walking up to her, looking down from above. "I just want you to know—you can take the money, but I doubt you can spend it."

My assistant handed me a document and a pen at the right moment.

"What's this?" Tina asked, wary.

"A receipt confirmation," I said plainly. "Sign here to acknowledge receipt of the 300 thousand. Once you sign, the transaction is complete. Otherwise, not a penny leaves here."

Tina eyed the paper suspiciously but skimmed it. It listed every single "charge" from today, plus the extra "emotional distress" and "apology" fees—clear, itemized, and precise. To her, it was just a formality.

Without hesitation, she grabbed the pen and signed her name.

She tossed the document back to me, triumphant, ready to lift the remaining box.

"Now, the money's mine," she said.

"Is it?" I murmured, pocketing the signed paper. A cold curve tugged at the corner of my mouth.

I pulled out my phone, ignoring them both, and dialed another number.

The call connected, and I said, "Proceed."

…

Tina was still lost in the ecstasy of acquiring the fortune and paid no attention to my call. She carried a box in each hand, 300 thousand in total, grinning from ear to ear.

"Nick, let's go! I'll take you to buy that car you liked last time!" she said, brimming with excitement.

But Nick's face showed no joy—only deep unease. He looked at me, lips moving as if to speak, but in the end, nothing came out.

Just as Tina was about to lead him out of Bosco, the club's main doors were slammed open from the outside.

A group of men and women in matching black uniforms, faces stern, walked in.