Her Butler

I have waited three years for this engagement banquet.
The chandelier in the banquet hall dazzled my eyes, but all I saw was Viola Scott.
Before I could reach Viola Scott, a figure blocked my way.
It was Michael Carter, the butler who had served Viola Scott for ten years.
He held an Agreement in his hand, almost identical to the one I saw three years ago.
I didn't reach out, my gaze passing over him to rest on Viola.
"Is this your doing again?"My voice was low, afraid I might hear a tremor in it.
Viola swirled the red wine glass in her hand, spilling a few drops.
She smiled faintly, her tone casual: "I didn't arrange this, but Michael did nothing wrong."
"He wouldn't betray me."She said that sentence with clear determination.
I watched her submissive demeanor, saw the indifference in her eyes, and suddenly smiled myself.
I should have long ago returned to being my true self, Young Master Lincoln.
"Mr. Lincoln, please sign."Michael Carter's tone was commanding, as if I owed him millions.
I took the Agreement, clenched my fingers tightly, and the paper instantly crumpled.
The next moment, that crumpled paper hit Michael Carter's face.
"Make your identity clear."I stared at him without showing any goodwill.
Ignoring Michael Carter's sullen face, I turned to Viola Scott: "I waited three years, only to have your butler boss me around?"
The Banquet Hall was silent, all eyes fixed on Viola Scott.
Viola shot me a sharp glance, her voice rising a notch: "Michael has been with me since he was ten. During these three years abroad, do you know how much he's helped me?"
"Is it just three more years to wait? Do you have to be this furious?" Her words stabbed at my heart like needles.
My mind buzzed, and suddenly her words from three years ago resurfaced.
"Mike, wait for me three years, and when I come back, we'll get engaged."
"Michael always makes you unhappy. During these three years, I will take good care of him."
But now, she has completely forgotten those words.
This morning, when I went to the airport to pick her up, I deliberately wore the white shirt she used to like.
I wanted to rush over and hug her, but Michael Carter reached out and stopped me.
"Ms. Scott's status has changed. She has to maintain her image in public."When he said this, his eyes were filled with disdain.
"If you want to get close to Ms. Scott, you'll need to disinfect yourself first."Those words left me frozen on the spot.
Viola Scott stood beside me without saying a word, as if she hadn't seen any of it.
Later, when I went to the restroom and came back out, I saw that my car had vanished without a trace.
After asking the airport staff, I learned that Michael Carter had driven my car and taken Viola Scott away first.
I called her, but she replied impatiently, "Michael is doing this for my own good, so don't be so petty."
"Don't cause trouble before the Engagement Banquet."She added that before hanging up.
For her, I endured.
But now, that endurance feels like a joke.
Michael touched his bruised face and actually laughed, "Refusing to sign means you're not sincere enough to Ms. Scott."
"Don't forget, the queue of people wanting to pursue Ms. Scott could stretch all the way down the street."The pride in his tone was impossible to conceal.
He thought I would still endure as before, thought I would sign that humiliating Agreement.
But he was wrong.
"Smack!"
The sharp slap echoed especially loudly in the Banquet Hall.
"You're behaving like this—are you trying to chase after her too?"I stared at him, enunciating each word.
Michael Carter was stunned, his fists clenched tightly, knuckles cracking, on the verge of striking.
Suddenly, the table was slammed with a loud bang.
Viola Scott stood up, holding a gun, the muzzle aimed straight at my forehead.

"Had enough of making a scene?"Her voice was cold, devoid of any warmth.
"Slapping Michael is like slapping me!"
"Apologize to Michael immediately!" she commanded three times, each sentence carrying an order.
Everyone in the room held their breath; no one dared to speak.
Michael Carter sneered beside her, his eyes shining with triumphant glee of 'you lost.'
But I smiled, my voice low yet clear enough for her to hear: "Go ahead and shoot. Let everyone see that you'd let your fiancé die at the Engagement Banquet over a butler."
Viola Scott's hand trembled as the gun slowly lowered.
"You know, Michael only did it for my sake; he didn't mean anything else."She tried to explain, her tone softening slightly.
"But hitting him was your fault."
"Apologize."She resumed her queenly demeanor, as if the hesitation just now had been my imagination.
I looked at her and suddenly felt estranged.
The Viola who used to be playful with me three years ago seemed to have vanished.
"Apologize?"I repeated, my voice thick with sarcasm.
"Have you forgotten he owes me his life?"
Three years ago, Michael Carter got into a conflict that dragged Viola Scott along; the two were trapped in an abandoned factory.
I was the one who rushed in to save them; I was stabbed eight times and almost didn't survive.
There was also one time he mixed mango juice into the milk tea I was drinking.
I am allergic to mango; after drinking it, I went into shock and spent a week in the hospital.
My voice wasn't loud, but everyone in the banquet hall could hear me clearly.
Their looks toward Michael Carter were full of contempt.
Actually, it's not just those two incidents.
He once smashed my laptop, which contained a project proposal I had been working on for six months.
He lost my client list, which caused me to lose a major contract.
Even after drinking, he badmouths me to others and spreads my private matters everywhere.
I used to endure all this because Viola Scott said he was just immature.
Michael's expression shifted, and suddenly he charged forward, snatching the gun from Viola Scott's hand.
He pressed the muzzle to his temple, his voice quivering with sobs: "Don't make things difficult for Ms. Scott!"
"What happened back then was my fault. If you want my life, take it!"
Viola Scott's eyes, which just moments ago showed a hint of guilt, changed instantly.
She quickly reached out to stop Michael: "Michael, don't do this!"
Then, she turned and glared at me: "Do you still want to bring up the past? Are you only happy if he's ruined?"
I clenched my back teeth, feeling my heart slowly grow cold.
Michael Carter wasn't finished. He grabbed a fruit knife from the nearby plate.
Before I could react, he stabbed the knife into the palm of his own hand.
"Mr. Lincoln," he said, looking at me as blood dripped between his fingers, "Consider this my repayment, alright? Can I sign the papers now?"
The fresh blood stained the white tablecloth, glaringly vivid.
Viola Scott's eyes instantly reddened. She hastily tore a corner from her dress and knelt down to bandage Michael Carter.
After she finished bandaging me, she stood up and shouted, "Look at what you've turned into!"
"So aggressive and unreasonable!"
"Can't you be more considerate towards me like Michael?"

I looked at her and suddenly felt a deep sense of grievance.
It was clearly them who pushed me step by step.
She clearly changed, yet she blames me.
Has she forgotten everything I've done for her?
She doesn't like cilantro; I've been with her for five years, and my family has never bought cilantro once.
She loves the soup dumplings from that shop in the west of the city; every day I'd get up at six in the morning to queue and buy them for her.
Once, she forgot to bring a document. That day, it was pouring rain; I rode my electric bike and got completely soaked delivering it to her.
For three years, she was abroad, and we were in a long-distance relationship.
She was busy, calling at most twice a month, each time no longer than ten minutes.
But I never complained; I thought everything would be fine once she returned.
Isn't that sincere enough?
Someone nearby couldn't stand it and tried to smooth things over: 'Today is the Engagement Banquet; if you have something to say, speak properly—don't cause a scene.'
But Viola Scott wouldn't relent. She stared at me, her tone even firmer: 'You've gone too far today. You must apologize to Michael.'
"Otherwise, won't you become completely unruly in front of me from now on?"
I looked at her, unable to utter a single word.
Suddenly, I found this five-year relationship utterly laughable.
"Say something!" Viola raised her voice again, "Didn't you see how much blood Michael lost? Is it really that hard to apologize?"
This sentence was painfully familiar.
Back then, when I was lying severely injured in the hospital, she said the exact same thing to Michael Carter.
"Didn't you see how badly Mike was hurt? Can't you be a little more considerate of him?"
But now, she was using those words against me.
I still remained silent, and Viola Scott completely lost her temper.
She grabbed the wine glass beside her and hurled it at me.
"Apologize!"
"Or don't even think about marrying me—I'll make you regret it!"
The glass shattered against my forehead.
Warm blood trickled down my forehead and dripped onto the tip of my nose.
Everyone present was stunned, and murmurs immediately broke out.
Viola Scott was also stunned, standing there motionless for more than ten seconds.
She lowered her head, bit her lip, seemingly full of regret.
Just then, Michael Carter spoke, his voice full of feigned grievance: "Miss, let it go."
"Today was entirely my fault. I apologize to Mr. Lincoln."
I looked at him, secretly sneering.
He wasn't trying to smooth things over; he was clearly adding fuel to the fire.
As expected, Viola was placated by him. She looked up at me, her tone softening slightly: "Mike, you know that as long as you make me happy, everything else can be worked out."
Of course, I knew that.
For five years, I've been revolving entirely around her, afraid of upsetting her.
But does my happiness not matter?
I took a deep breath, tore off my bow tie, and said, "Today, you choose—Michael Carter or me."

I thought she would at least hesitate for a moment.
But she didn't.
The anticipation in Viola Scott's eyes vanished instantly, replaced by disappointment and anger.
In the end, she reverted to that haughty demeanor: "Mike Lincoln!"
"If you won't sign the Agreement or apologize, then live your life on your own from now on!"
After saying this, she grabbed Michael Carter and headed toward the door.
As Michael Carter left, he glanced back at me, his eyes full of the smug satisfaction of a victor.
I stood there, feeling utterly defeated.
I looked at her retreating figure and spoke softly, yet loud enough for her to hear: "From today onward, Viola Scott and I have no relation."
"It's all over."
Viola Scott hesitated for a moment, but she didn't look back and continued walking forward.
The Banquet Hall was in uproar; no one had expected this outcome.
The guests left one after another, leaving me alone.
Manager Warren from the hotel hurried over, holding my phone: "Mr. Lincoln, it's your father's call."
He wiped the blood from my forehead as he handed me the phone.
"I hear you and Viola have broken up?"My father's voice was calm over the phone.
"Yes," I nodded, "I don't want to be with her anymore."
This is the first time I have spoken so calmly when mentioning Viola Scott.
"You risked your life for her before—how can you give up so easily now?"My father's tone grew serious. "If you truly break up, I will withdraw all the resources I have allocated to the Scott family."
"By then, the Scott family will be left with nothing."
"I'm giving you one night to think it over," my father paused. "If you decide to give up, don't come crawling back."
After saying that, he hung up the phone.
I understood why my father said those words.
I used to spoil Viola too much—whatever she wanted, I gave to her, even at my own expense.
I shook my head, refusing to think about these things any longer.
I asked Manager Warren to keep serving the dishes, and summoned several waiters and chefs from the hotel to join us for the meal.
Before long, footsteps echoed outside the hotel entrance.
It was Viola Scott's father, Yale Scott.
He wore hospital clothes and looked very frail; he must have slipped out of the hospital.
I thought he had come to comfort me, considering he had treated me fairly well before.
But the moment he spoke, he accused me: 'Mike Lincoln! Have you lost your mind?'
'We've already waited three years. What difference does waiting another three years make? Doesn't my daughter deserve your patience?'
I picked up the wine glass, took a sip, and retorted, "Mr. Scott, is that really the point?"
"What do you mean?"Yale Scott frowned, his expression growing even darker.

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