C93 This Is Bad!

The Marrit Hotel was nestled in the suburbs of Lindzac City, offering a fusion of leisure, entertainment, hot springs, and vacation amenities in a single luxurious destination. Charlotte had dedicated over a year to meticulously selecting the perfect site for the Marrit Hotel. From the initial designs to the final construction, she invested three years and a staggering three billion into the project. Aside from the Golden Palace, the Marrit Hotel stood as Charlotte's crowning achievement in her portfolio.

Westley arrived at the Marrit Hotel by taxi, and as he stepped out, he couldn't suppress a chuckle. Clearly, Charlotte subscribed to the philosophy of valuing price over practicality. The property boasted an imposing artificial mountain fountain and even featured a central garden, with each element exuding opulence.

As Westley strolled through the grounds, it felt as though he had wandered into an extravagant car show, with limited edition Bugattis, Ferraris, Lamborghinis, and Bentleys on display—a veritable exhibition of luxury automotive brands.

The patrons here were all impeccably dressed in suits and fine attire, the hallmarks of high society gatherings.

Uncertain of Charlotte's whereabouts, Westley had no choice but to make his way to the main entrance. He had barely settled at the gate when a security guard confronted him.

"Hey, why are you here?" the guard inquired, hand extended.

"I'm here for the evening's cocktail party," Westley replied with a smile.

The guard scrutinized Westley from head to toe, his skepticism apparent. Westley's attire was far too casual—plain sportswear that had seen better days, and well-worn domestic-brand sneakers.

"Do you have an invitation?" the guard asked, a note of impatience in his voice.

"I don't seem to have one," Westley admitted, shaking his head. He had been invited to the dinner on short notice and hadn't received an invitation.

"Sorry, but without an invitation, I can't let you in. You'll need to leave," the guard said coolly, his demeanor suggesting impartiality.

Just then, a man in a sleek black suit approached the entrance, a woman at his side.

The man's expression was menacing, his scalp bare, and his eyes squinted in a way that gave him a rather sinister appearance.

His belly was so large it seemed ready to burst through the seams of his expensive suit.

The woman standing by his side, though surgically enhanced to beauty, towered over him at a height of 1.72 meters, especially in her high heels, making her a full head taller than the man.

She was clad in a blue backless evening gown, showcasing her alabaster skin to all present.

"Director Morris, hello."

The security guard at the entrance nodded and smiled warmly upon seeing the man.

"Hello!"

Director Morris, without a glance to the side, proceeded inside with his companion.

Westley witnessed this and his brow furrowed in confusion. "Doesn't he lack an invitation? How can he just walk in?"

"Do you know who that is? That's Director Morris, with a net worth over a hundred million. His face serves as his invitation," the security guard said with a dismissive smirk.

"You're giving him preferential treatment," Westley's displeasure grew.

If a face could serve as a pass, then surely his own good looks should mean he'd never need to pay his way anywhere.

"What if I am? If you have an invitation, you're in. If not, I'm sorry... but please don't make a scene here," the security guard replied icily.

Director Morris, who had already entered, seemed to catch wind of their exchange and let out a cold laugh before making his way back to the entrance.

"Young man, do you take issue with my admittance?" Director Morris asked, his smile forced and somewhat off-putting.

"Yes, I just think this security guard is disregarding the rules, judging by appearances," Westley affirmed with a nod.

Director Morris burst into laughter, wrapping his arm firmly around his girlfriend's waist. His laughter caused his whole body to shake, almost as if his suit might rip apart at any moment.

"Director Morris, please, don't be upset. I'll send him on his way," the security guard interjected hastily.

"I'll talk some sense into him."

Director Morris waved him off, then turned to Westley with a grin. "Young man, curious about why I can get in?"

Westley didn't speak but gave a nod.

Director Morris gestured to his wrist. "This watch? It's worth over 800,000 yuan."

"This suit and these leather shoes? Custom-made, just for me. They're worth a cool 300,000 yuan."

"And my car? A Rolls-Royce, over 3 million yuan."

He went on and on, finally giving his girlfriend's derriere a playful pat.

She let out a coy squeal and nestled into Director Morris's embrace.

"To keep her by my side, I shell out millions every year."

Director Morris finished, giving Westley a look that was both mocking and amused. "See the difference between us now?"

"I don't," Westley replied, shaking his head.

"It's money! I'm swimming in it! That's the biggest gap between you and me."

Director Morris boasted, "With money, you can do anything. Without it, you're nothing. Get it, kid?"

With that, he pulled out a cigar.

His girlfriend was quick to light it for him.

Director Morris took a leisurely puff, the smoke wafting into Westley's face.

He loved schooling the younger generation.

Westley had to stifle a chuckle.

The man was such a show-off.

"Money can't always get you everything," Westley said with a smile.

"Oh? Do enlighten me. I'm listening," Director Morris said, cocking an ear.

"Like how I can get in without an invitation," Westley claimed.

"Big talk. Prove it," challenged Director Morris.

Just then, the security guard interjected with conviction, "Director Morris, don't mind his bluster. Without an invitation, he can't even get through the front gate."

"Don't be so sure. Miracles happen," Director Morris said with feigned grandeur, eager to see Westley squirm.

Westley sighed, pulled out his worn wallet, and casually handed a card to the security guard. "Can I get in with this?"

"Just a tattered card," the guard began, then stopped dead.

His eyes widened in shock.

Impossible.

This guy had that?

He'd just insulted someone important.

No, more than important.

"What's the matter? It's just a card. Why are you so spooked?" Director Morris scoffed, thinking the guard lacked sophistication.

"This is the Supreme Black Card."

The security guard struggled to swallow, his face a portrait of despair.

His fate was sealed.