C2 Silver Club

Fischer harbored a deep-seated resentment toward the father he had never met.

His father had abandoned him and his mother in his early years, and was nowhere to be found when his mother fell gravely ill. Without Rosailla's intervention, his mother might have succumbed to her illness long ago.

Thus, he had no desire whatsoever to claim the inheritance from this stranger of a man.

Eliasz was taken aback by Fischer's refusal, his voice laced with urgency as he implored, "Young Master, you are the sole legal heir to the Myers Group. Without you stepping in to lead in the United States, the Myers Group will be headless!"

Fischer's response was icy, "What concern is that of mine?"

Unable to contain himself, Eliasz pressed, "Aren't you tired of living at the mercy of others?"

Fischer's reply was serene, "Not at all, because Rosailla is my wife, and I love her."

With that, Fischer ended the video call in a surge of anger.

In the aftermath, a flicker of regret passed through Fischer's heart, but upon reflection, he found solace once again.

Rosailla was not only his savior but also the only woman he truly loved. All he wanted was to lead a peaceful life by her side.

Later, he visited the hospital ward to spend some time with his mother, choosing to keep the inheritance issue to himself.

His mother's fragile health could not withstand such shocks.

As work time approached, he left the hospital to head for the Favor Group.

Just then, his phone rang with an unexpected call from the security at Rosailla's company. "Mr. Myers, Cornell is here looking for Director Murray again!"

The news sent a shudder through Fischer's frame, his heart feeling as though it was being squeezed by an unseen force.

Fischer never presumed Rosailla's love for him, considering himself, in the strictest sense, perhaps just a stand-in she sought in her sorrow.

Now, with the emergence of a formidable rival like Cornell, Fischer was uncertain if Rosailla could fend off his advances.

Anxiously, Fischer inquired, "Is he in Rosailla's office?"

"No, they're about to leave in Cornell's car," came the reply.

The security guard had always been on friendly terms with Fischer, perhaps a camaraderie born from their shared humble beginnings. It was this bond that prompted the guard to discreetly inform Fischer whenever Cornell paid Rosailla a visit.

Fischer pressed further, "Where are they headed?"

"To the Silver Club," came the reply.

The Silver Club?

That was the city's most prestigious establishment, renowned among the elite.

Rumor had it that the club's owner was a major figure, and countless wealthy and influential individuals vied for entry, all eager to curry favor with the elusive proprietor.

Membership was mandatory for entry, and without it, no amount of cash could grant you access.

Moreover, gaining membership to the Silver Club wasn't just a matter of wealth; one had to formally apply.

The club assessed prospective members based on their financial assets, business status, and overall capabilities. Any shortfall meant outright rejection.

The Silver Club's membership tiers ranged from the elite diamond to platinum, gold, silver, and the lowest, brass. Even brass members needed a net worth in the tens of millions and a business with at least fifty employees.

Rosailla, despite being a successful businesswoman, didn't meet the criteria for even a brass membership.

Fischer knew all too well that someone like him stood no chance of getting into the Silver Club.

Yet, his concern for Rosailla's well-being gnawed at him.

He knew Cornell's character all too well; the man was no saint and had long lusted after Rosailla's beauty.

Back when Cornell was courting Rosailla, he had been eager to take their relationship to the next level, but Rosailla had firmly refused any intimacy before marriage, thwarting his advances.

Fearing that Cornell might exploit the pretext of aiding Rosailla with her business troubles to take advantage of her, Fischer wasted no time and hailed a cab straight to the Silver Club.

As he neared the club, Fischer spotted Cornell's car at the entrance.

The car door swung open, revealing the suave and dapper Cornell, who stepped out and then courteously opened the passenger door.

Rosailla emerged from the passenger side, clad in a sleek black evening gown that accentuated her graceful figure, complemented by her elegantly applied subtle makeup.

Bathed in the soft glow of the evening, Rosailla was the embodiment of an ethereal beauty descended from the heavens.

Fischer sat tensely in the taxi, his fists clenched as he urged the driver, "Please, can you go a little faster?"

Outside the Silver Club, Cornell offered an urbane smile and casually extended his hand to encircle Rosailla's slender waist. In a seamless motion, Rosailla subtly furrowed her brows and sidestepped his touch, leaving no evidence of her evasion. The air between them seemed to thicken with unspoken tension.

A brief shadow of disappointment flickered in Cornell's eyes, but it was swiftly replaced by a disturbingly intense self-assurance.

Without meaning to, Cornell glanced back and caught sight of Fischer, who had just exited the taxi and was approaching rapidly. Their eyes locked, and Cornell's lips curled into a sneer of utmost contempt as he slowly lowered his little finger in a dismissive gesture.

Despite Fischer's desperate sprint, he was too late. By the time he reached the entrance of the Silver Club, Cornell was adjusting his black-rimmed glasses with a genteel air. "Rosailla, the investors I've set up for you are here. Go on up with the waiter. I'll join you after I say hello to a friend," he said smoothly.

A complex look passed through Rosailla's eyes, but she ultimately gave a slight nod in agreement.

When Fischer arrived at the entrance, he was met with Cornell's scornful expression. "Fischer? You think the Silver Club is a place for losers like you?"

Cornell had shed his facade of modesty, his words dripping with challenge. "Cornell, bring Rosailla out, or this isn't over between us!"

"Fischer, who do you think you are? You're not even worthy of stepping foot in the Silver Club, and yet you dare to threaten me? You're truly clueless," Cornell taunted.

The deepest provocations are not about verbal slights or physical assaults; they're about profound insults to one's character.

Seeing Fischer's flushed face, Cornell let out a cold laugh. "Relax, I've had a signal blocker installed in the upstairs suite. You won't be able to reach Rosailla by phone. In a few minutes, she'll be mine."

With biting sarcasm, Cornell added, "You're pathetic. Three years of marriage and Rosailla is still untouched. Can't you figure out why? I'll spell it out for you—she's been saving herself for me."

Fischer was seething with anger, his fist raised to strike, but Cornell had already made his way into the Silver Club.

Driven by instinct, Fischer was about to chase after him and give him a thrashing, but the moment he approached the entrance, two stony-faced men in black unhesitatingly barred his way.

"Excuse me, sir. Could you please present your membership card?"