Revenge of The Furtive Billionaire Heir by Ryker Helios

10. The Card Belongs to me!

For a moment, I am confused.

Of course, the card belonged to Jace Greyson. That shouldn’t create any issues, because my frickin

name is Jace Greyson. Had Coraline hit her head somewhere? Was that the reason why she was

acting so goddamned strange today?

“I knew that you were up to something sketchy,” Coraline goes on to say, “This card is clearly not yours,

you have stolen it from somebody. Who did you steal from? Do you know how much these cards are

worth?”

“What? I didn’t steal it, because that’s my card, and that’s my name,” I insist, “I’m Jace Greyson!”

The waiter looks in between us, and his brows furrow, “Sir,” he addresses me, “this is a very valuable

card, and the miss’s claim is a serious offense. I don’t think I can let you go. We thought you were

wealthy upon your initial reaction to our mistake, but now I’m starting to think that it isn’t the case.”

Why, the gall…

I step forward and grab the card from Coraline’s hand, making her yelp, and read the name on the

card.

Jace Greyson.

What was she so confused about?

And then it hits me

I wasn’t Jace Greyson always. When I was in high school, my surname was different. Instead of using

my father’s surname, I was using my mother’s surname. It was only after graduating that I changed my

name to what I was using now.

So, everyone in High school, including Coraline and Jon knew me as Jace Pastor. But Jace Pastor

didn’t exist anymore. I was Jace Greyson now.

“I changed my name after I graduated,” There’s a lot of history and secrets between the circumstances

of my name which I do not want to reveal to anyone, so I decide to keep it simple, “In high school, I was

using my mother’s name, but now I’m using my father’s name.”

“Oh, how convenient,” Coraline spits, her eyes narrowing even more, “No ordinary person can get their

kid a card like this. Who is your father?”

I sigh, “I don’t know how I’m supposed to convince you of this.”

“You know what, folks,” the waiter looks in between us and puts up his hands, “I’m just going to let you

two figure it out. The bill is paid so I got no obligation here.”

With that, he leaves me in the parking lot with Coraline.

“You know, I felt sorry for you before, but not now,” Coraline seethes, “You’re clearly a thief. I thought

you were better than this, Jace. You used to be a decent guy.”

“And you used to be a smart person who could see the truth when they see it,” I snap back, “Also, don’t

act like you’re all high and mighty now, what you did in the restaurant is still wrong.”

“I don’t believe you. You stole that card from someone rich,” she takes out her phone from the purse

slung across her shoulder, “I should call the police now.”

“What? Are you crazy? You’re taking this too far!” I screech, not fancying the idea of getting entangled

in a police investigation in the middle of all the other drama in my life.

I shove my hands into my hair and turn away from her, my mind racing to find a solution for this. All

around us, the twilight was turning to night. More and more vehicles come to park in the restaurant

parking lot, and music starts to come from the reception room. Clearly, the Alumni Association party

was going on. So why is Coraline out here arguing with me rather than going in and having fun with her

friends?

God, there’s nothing I won’t do more than for her to leave me alone to go home.

Finally, a thought buzzes in my mind. It’s not a particularly good one, in fact, I do not like it at all. But it

got the potential to work.

“Look, I got an idea,” I state.

“I’m listening. What is this great idea you’ve conjured that can prove who you are?”

“Look, I loathe to do this,” I sigh, “But go to dinner with me.”

“What?”

“Go to dinner with me, and I can show you I am who I really am,” I reply, “I’ll call my driver now to pick

me up, and he’ll set things straight. I’ll use this card and prove to you that it belongs to me.”

Coraline blinks at me, “You want me to go to dinner with you?”

“I don’t like it same as you clearly do, but that seems like the only option that’ll keep you from calling

the cops on me,” I say, crossing my hands, “or you can be a normal person and just believe me without

jumping into ridiculous conclusions.”

“I can’t do that,” Coraline protests.

“Great, then I’m going to go-“

“No, you can’t!”

But Coraline doesn’t get to talk anymore.

Another car makes its way toward us, this time it’s a vehicle I am not familiar with. But it looks right at

home with all the expensive vehicles in the restaurant parking lot. The lights of the car dim as it parks

next to us, and the door opens.

Out of the car steps a young man around our age. He is tall, with brown hair with streaks of silver,

clearly, dyed, cut in a rakish style, and molded into his head with so much product. He wears a pair of

sunglasses (who the hell wears sunglasses at night?) so low on his nose that you can see the color of

his eyes, which is a lighter shade of brown than his hair. He’s dressed in a designer suit consisting of a

shimmering silver jacket which is garish to look it. On his neck, there are several chains, all made of

silver and white gold, and rings on his fingers. In one of his hands, he holds a cigarette.

The man saunters towards Coraline and without even asking, puts his arm around her and pulls her to

him.

“Well,” Coraline blushes, “I don’t think I would be able to go on a dinner with you, Jace. Because this is

my boyfriend.”