Chapter 2 The Generous Gentleman
Yuan Ning heard her own breathing echoing on the phone. She didn't dare to speak, speaking to that... her father's legal wife.
The other person called out again, "Meng Yuanning." When she didn't respond, the other person continued, "You are already twenty years old. Under the laws of any country, you are an adult, and we no longer have any obligation to support you. As for those things you enjoyed before the age of twenty that did not belong to you, I hope you can understand that it was my leniency towards you, and it does not mean that you were born to have them."
Yuan Ning listened to the woman's voice on the phone. The woman's voice remained steady, authoritative, and calm. She couldn't detect any emotion in her voice; there was no disgust, let alone affection. It was all business.
That woman said "our Meng family," but what about her? What about Yuan Ning? Yuan Ning naturally took her father's surname after she was born, and she's also surnamed Meng.
“Your father left a small house in your mother’s hometown of Nancheng under your name. It is part of the property that the Meng family has allocated to you. It is enough for you and your mother to live in. If you can’t stay in New York City any longer, you can come back at any time. The Meng family will not deliberately target you and your mother.”
A twenty-year-old girl who grew up in a pampered environment certainly wouldn't be considered "mature".
"Dad, where's Dad? I want to talk to Dad." Her voice trembled uncontrollably with tears, and she instinctively relied on her favorite father, the father who loved her the most.
“Your father is right next to me, he can repeat what I just said to you again.”
...
Twenty-year-old Yuan Ning couldn't understand why her father, who had spoken warmly with her just last week, had changed so drastically.
She has always been her father's beloved daughter, from childhood to adulthood.
She got her first Chanel when she was five years old. Her father said that he would buy all her Chanel bags for the rest of her life.
Her father said to her on the phone, "Dad has raised you to adulthood, Nini, don't blame Dad."
"Madam, your chicory salad with roasted pears."
The waiter's gentle voice pulled Yuan Ning back to the present from that chaotic, nightmarish Tuesday morning. The Balthazar restaurant was warm and bustling with activity.
When she looked up again, the slightly haughty smile had returned to her face: "Thank you."
The waiters began to serve the dishes methodically, with delicate porcelain plates stacked on red velvet tablecloths.
A girl wearing a black velvet halter dress has long, meticulously styled black curly hair, and in front of her is a plate of chicory salad with roasted pears.
The chicory leaves are slender and curled, with a deliberately elegant bitterness. A few slices of roasted pear are the only sweet consolation. A small dish of gorgon and zucchini cheese crumbs sits on the side. The sauce is served separately in small silver cups as requested, showing restraint and discernment. This is exactly the kind of meal that a fashionable woman who is managing her figure would enjoy.
“Wynne, you are so refined, we should all learn from you.”
Before Emily was the restaurant's signature black cod with lime juice. Yuan Ning glanced at it indifferently, her beautiful eyelashes drooping for only a moment. From her full forehead to her smooth jawline, every part of her was elegant and refined.
"Emily, you can eat like me too."
"I'd rather not. I don't want to suffer like that. Honestly, girls from our background don't need to deliberately maintain their figure to get attention."
Stella commented: "But Emily, if you gain any more weight, you won't even fit into size eight anymore. Branded ready-to-wear clothing only goes up to size eight. Are you sure your family has the money to buy you haute couture? I don't want to see you in plus-size clothing stores anymore, and I certainly won't eat at the same table with you. It would be too embarrassing."
Yuan Ning looked up at the incessantly chattering Stella and could only feign agreement with a faint smile to hide her embarrassment at having to eat only one salad because she was short of money.
When her beautiful eyelashes fluttered, her eyes were trying hard to suppress the panic and bitterness hidden beneath her exquisite appearance.
Fortunately, the other three naive young girls at the table couldn't possibly see through her.
A thick-cut grilled steak passed by them and was served by a waiter to the men at the next table.
Elias, who was waiting for his Tartar deer tenderloin, turned slightly to look at the waiter as his meat platter arrived.
Yuan Ning was busy stirring her salad and didn't see the profile of the man she had judged to have "excellent taste."
Elias's gaze swept indifferently over the scene and landed on a girl with a waist of only 1.8 feet, with a lone salad in front of her.
The shallow and empty noise from the girl at the next table naturally reached his ears. Elias was born with infinite perception, and no detail could escape his eyes and ears.
He sat there, silent, taking in all the light, sound, and emotions.
Even before that, two gentlemen at his table nearly got into an uncouth argument over an offensive remark made by a young girl at the next table, but Elias stopped them: "Viscount Montfort, mind your manners."
His deer tenderloin arrived, and he prepared to begin eating.
The carefully seasoned venison, edged with thin slices of black truffle and finely chopped chives, exudes a rich and primal aroma. The hardened crust from the high-temperature grilling locks in the abundant juices, and even as the waiter held it, the meat's fragrance precisely struck Yuan Ning's delicate senses with each steady step.
Her body reacted before her will.
A clear, almost painful spasm came from my stomach.
Saliva was flowing uncontrollably, forcing her to swallow very quickly as she bent down to stir the salad.
She has had a very difficult few days, not just because of hunger.
At this moment, she is forcing herself to sit here, but in the past three days, she has moved out of her penthouse apartment on Garden Avenue, dragging a small suitcase that can only hold the most basic clothes, and in early winter in New York City, she has used her last money to check into a cheap hotel.
She lay awake until dawn, experiencing for the first time the feeling of being at her wit's end.
While guests dined, a pianist played in the center of the hall at Balthazar restaurant, the piano music flowing gently, followed by a violinist, the double bass strings displaying endless elegance.
Yuan Ning was wondering how she could use the last of her cash to move into the tiny apartment in Williamsburg that the real estate agent had provided for her, where she would have to share a cramped kitchen and a perpetually unclean bathroom with two unfamiliar, tattooed rock musicians.
She didn't know if her stomach cramps were caused by the aroma of meat from the men at the next table, or by the immense despair she was experiencing firsthand.
The piano and violin duet lingered softly in the warm air of the restaurant, while Yuan Ning chewed on chicory leaves.
Emily skillfully used her fork to break apart the snow-white juices of the black cod, then looked up at Yuan Ning as if she remembered something. "Speaking of which, Wynne, didn't Professor Miller mention last week that he wanted to introduce you to an internship at a brand house? I remember it was... Celine? Or Givenchy?" She frowned slightly, trying hard to recall.
Yuan Ning tightened her grip on the fork slightly, maintaining a nonchalant expression. After gently swallowing the food in her mouth, she elegantly dabbed her lips with a napkin.
“It’s Givenchy,” Yuan Ning corrected, her voice steady as if she didn’t care at all. “The brand needs interns to provide styling guidance for VIC, which basically means accompanying those wealthy ladies to choose clothes. Sometimes they also need to accompany clients to Paris for fashion shows, flying around all the time. It’s such a hassle.”
She tried to make it clear that this internship was just an option she could consider, not her current lifeline.
Fashion is something that only exists in the world of fame and fortune.
People can tell at a glance whether she is well-dressed or not. If she is a person with good taste, they will listen to her. If she looks poor, no one will pay attention to her.
Since ancient times, the bourgeoisie has not allowed commoners to join them.
Yuan Ning, on the other hand, had no choice but to continue faking her upper-class status and infiltrate the community as a true commoner, no, a poor person.
At a top-tier prestigious university like Parsons, once she shows even the slightest sign of being "bankrupt," no more resources will be allocated to her.
Professor Miller will definitely take back the internship opportunity he offered her.
Otherwise, why would you send a poor girl who shares an apartment to serve those wealthy women? Please, her shabby appearance would lower the brand's image!
"Wow!" Amanda looked up, a genuine hint of envy flashing in her eyes. "Direct contact with VIC? This is such an amazing opportunity! My mom went to great lengths to get me an internship at a Chanel boutique. Givenchy... it's not as good as Chanel, but it's still pretty good. It's all thanks to your straight A's every semester that Professor Miller recommended you."
Emily retorted, "When you say VIC, do you mean Eleanor?"
Amanda said, "You have to admit, they really have hooked up with a big shot, and now they belong to all the major brands."
Stella, in her usual critical tone, said, "This is indeed a great opportunity. Although I know you'd prefer a fashion magazine like Vogue or Bazaar, you know, internships at these brand houses, especially those that allow you to interact with core clients, are becoming increasingly valuable. Wynne, what are you waiting for?"
The three girls' eyes were all focused on Yuan Ning. In their opinion, given Wynne's background and taste, accepting such an internship was just to experience it and make connections.
Yuan Ning picked up her black coffee, her gaze sweeping over the back of the man called Elias, and feigned hesitation: "You know, I prefer places where I can unleash more creativity, like a magazine editorial department. An internship at Brand House sounds a bit boring."
“Please, Wynne,” Amanda shook her head disapprovingly, “That’s Givenchy! Even just helping those ladies put together outfits will build you a top-notch network. And the internship stipend must be substantial, right? Enough for you to buy several new dresses every month. It’s embarrassing to keep asking your parents for money.”
"Alright then, I'll think about it some more." Yuan Ning ended the conversation with a vague smile.
Just then, the sound of chairs being moved came from the next table. The three men seemed to have finished their meal, and Elias van der Berg remained with his back to them.
The waiter brought them the bill, which was placed on a silver tray.
Elias didn't check the exact amount on the bill; he simply raised his hand casually, lit another cigar, and pulled out his wallet with his other hand.
He didn't turn around, but instead made a quick gesture with the hand holding the cigar towards Yuan Ning and her group's table.
"Pay the bills for the four ladies at the next table together."
"Yes, sir."
A hint of disapproval flashed across the Viscount Montfort's face, but after glancing at Elias, he remained silent.
The four girls fell silent, exchanging surprised glances tinged with a secret excitement. While they weren't short of money for the meal, having a stranger of such refined taste and clearly high status pay for it was still a rare and romantic experience.
Elias then turned his head slightly. He stood there, and under the light, Yuan Ning could only see the blurry outline of his profile.
His gaze did not fall on any of the girls' faces, but rather passed over them. His tone was steady, his grammar perfect, and his tone condescending yet purely polite: "A small apology for possibly disturbing the ladies' enjoyment of the meal."
He was probably referring to the attention Stella had drawn for her previous comment about the "Chanel boutique".
His act of paying the bill was by no means a compliment to the lady; he was simply upholding the dignity of his social class, or rather, asserting his own unquestionable authority.
He looked away, the creases of his charcoal gray suit falling smoothly like mercury, leaving no unnecessary trace.
He didn't even glance at them, but nodded slightly and left the restaurant.
“What a generous gentleman!” Emily exclaimed.
A note from the author:
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