His Fire, My Bars

At eight in the evening, the entrance of the Gilt Pavilion was at its liveliest. I stood behind the security checkpoint, holding a metal detector, repeating the same actions every day. The sleeve of the black suit was rolled up to the forearm, revealing a pale pink scar on the wrist — left ten years ago, and the only part I refused to fully fix. "Natalie, the guests in room 12 are VIPs. Be sure to act accordingly." Colleague Draco came over, lowering his voice to warn me. I nodded, my gaze sweeping over the group of people entering through the door. The man at their head wore a bespoke suit, his hair flawlessly styled, an air of habitual arrogance etched across his face. It was Troy Stewart. My very own elder brother. Ten years have passed, yet he remains just as high and mighty. A few impeccably dressed friends trailed him, along with an elderly man whose hair had gone gray—Mr. Foster, the Stewart family's former steward, who never missed a chance to help Troy keep me down in the old days. Troy's gaze lingered on my face for two seconds—first puzzled, then a mocking smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Well, look who it is! The Stewart family's very own star." He deliberately raised his voice, drawing the attention of the nearby guests. "Slumming it as a bouncer now?" The word "bouncer" stabbed at my heart like needles, but my expression remained unchanged. Ten years had long since dulled my edge, leaving only a hard shell. My hand gripping the detector didn't move; my tone was calm: "Sir, please cooperate with the security check." "Cooperate?" Troy shoved my detector away with a scoff. "You think you can touch me?" The friends around him joined in with mocking laughter, their eyes dripping with disdain. Mr. Foster stepped forward and added, "Miss Natalie, Mr. Troy is the heir of the Stewart family. How dare you be so disrespectful to him? Years ago, when you embezzled and committed arson, Mr. Troy chose not to hold you accountable—that was mercy beyond measure." "Embezzled and committed arson." Those four words again. Ten years ago, Troy used that very excuse to completely erase me from the Stewart family, turning me into a pariah everyone despised. I stared at Mr. Foster's hypocritical face. "Mr. Foster," I said evenly, "you need proof to speak. Who saw me embezzle funds and commit arson?" "You still dare to deny it!" Troy stepped forward, closing in on me. "The study's surveillance captured you going in, and the next day it caught fire. If it wasn't you, then who was it? And that missing money from the company account—if you didn't transfer it, then who did?" His voice grew louder and louder. The guests around us stopped in their tracks, pointing fingers at me. "So she's the one—the Stewart family's daughter who embezzled money and committed arson back then." "Tsk tsk, what a disgrace to the family." "Sir, if you do not cooperate with the security screening, I'm afraid I can't allow you in, as per regulations." I remained calm, though my voice held a firmer edge. Troy hadn't expected me to stand my ground; his face darkened. "Natalie, don't be so shameless! One word from me, and you're finished in this city. Got it?" I said nothing, merely raising my hand to summon the security personnel beside me. Troy stared at me, utterly inflexible, his face turning an angry shade of green, but he dared not lose his temper in front of the other guests. In the end, he snorted coldly, rudely shoved the detector aside, and stormed off with his men. Before leaving, Mr. Foster glanced back at me, a warning lurking in his eyes. I watched their backs, clenching my fists; the scar on my wrist throbbed faintly.