CHAPTER 175: MILLION DOLLAR COFFEE!!!

Mishell scanned the tables, then pointed.

"That’s the one, baby."

Her voice was light, sugary — but her eyes already held contempt.

The boy beside her turned, gaze landing on Miles with open disdain.

"So you’re the one who wants to date my girl, huh?"

Miles didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

Silence settled like frost.

Behind them, the waiter froze with Miles’ cold coffee in hand — unsure, nervous.

Miles lifted two fingers — a calm, almost lazy gesture — serve it.

The glass was placed down gently.

A bow.

The waiter retreated.

Mishell scoffed loudly. "You even dared to order something? Do you think I’m paying for your drink?"

The boy smirked, sliding an arm around her waist.

"You poor commoner... trying to make her pay your bill?"

Mishell clicked her tongue. "My mom told me her friend married after high school, then her husband died and she ended up on the streets with him." Her eyes narrowed spitefully. "Tragic, right? But now that poor family is trying to scheme us, I told my mom, but she is simple and innocent, she doesn’t understand these people’s tricks."

Miles’ fingers paused on the cold glass.

A thin crack appeared somewhere deep inside his chest — quiet but real.

"Baby," the boy continued, eager to impress,

"Boy, look at this."

He raised his wrist — a flashy gold watch.

"This is a Vacheron Constantin Overseas, worth sixty thousand dollars. You won’t earn that in three hundred years."

Around them, heads turned.

Whispers rippled across the cafe. As people who work at Cinder Square know him.

"That’s Mr. Sterling..."

"Are they insane?"

"They’re buried and they don’t even know they’re dead..."

"Oh God... this is better than drama night."

The manager took a step forward, pale — but Miles lifted a hand, stopping him.

He wanted to see how far this would go.

Mishell curled her lip. "How shameless. Sitting, drinking, pretending like you belong here."

The boy laughed. "Let him finish. He’ll be washing dishes here to pay later anyway."

Mishell leaned closer. "Do you even know what luxury is? My boyfriend’s dad owns a real estate business. They even have a rented office here in Cinder Square."

She lifted her chin proudly.

"Try achieving that in your lifetime."

Miles lifted his glass, drank the final cold sip.

Still silent.

No tremor in his face.

No anger.

Just... stillness.

For people who truly hunt monsters, this level of calm was nothing.

The boy’s confidence wavered.

"Hey— say sorry to her. And ask your mother to apologize to hers."

That was when Miles stood.

Slow. Measured.

No dramatic movement — yet the air shifted.

He was taller.

Broader.

And suddenly, the boy had to tilt his head up — way up.

His bravado snapped like a twig.

He stepped back, shoes scraping the marble, voice shrinking.

"Y–You..."

Miles simply stared down at him, expression unreadable.

Miles leaned in slightly, voice low and even.

"Apologize, you say? For what... hun?"

The café fell so quiet even the coffee machine stopped sounding loud.

His gaze shifted to Mishell — calm, sharp.

"And why do you think I would make you pay for my coffee?"

He tilted his head, tone suddenly casual — almost like reciting someone’s résumé.

"Mishell Hayes. Daughter of Julian Hayes."

Her eyes widened.

Miles continued, each word clean and controlled.

"Your father works in a sugar factory. Quality inspector. Good, honest job.

Started as a manual laborer. Worked overtime for years. Just so you and your mother could live comfortably."

Mishell’s face drained of color.

"He is a good man," Miles said softly.

"I admire him."

Then his eyes hardened, just a fraction.

"Did he scheme your mother into marriage?"

Mishell’s lips trembled. "Y-You—"

Miles cut in, tone polite but cutting:

"Apologies. I shouldn’t have gone personal."

A beat.

Then, with calm steel—

"About the bill. Miss Hayes — can you afford to pay it?"

His voice rose just enough to shake the floor.

The café froze.

"They’re dead. Socially, financially — spiritually."

"I’m not blinking. This is peak entertainment."

"This is gonna be in group chats by tonight."

"Should we... pray for them?"

The boy instantly shoved forward like a barking puppy.

"Watch your tone, you commoner! Don’t talk to my girlfriend like that!"

The café manager flinched and quietly dialed someone, panic rising.

Miles turned to the boy, eyes cold and bored.

"And who the hell are you?"

The boy puffed his chest.

"Who do you think you’re talking to?! I can buy this whole café without blinking!"

A small smirk curved on Miles’ lips.

Deadlier than any threat.

"Oh? You can buy the café?"

He tapped the table once.

"Then surely... you can afford my coffee."

He turned to the manager.

"Bring the bill."

The manager gulped — he knew exactly what this was.

"Y-Yes, sir."

Boy scoffed. "Consider it charity."

Miles’ voice dropped to ice.

"This charity will make your pants wet."

"Y-You—!" the boy stammered.

The manager returned, placing the bill gently.

"Here, sir."

Miles nodded.

"Give it to this gentleman. He insisted."

The manager slid the bill across the table.

The boy snatched it with a smirk —

then his face froze.

Eyes widened.

Color evaporated.

His jaw fell open like he forgot how to close it.

"W-What the hell is this?!"

"A million dollars for a coffee — are you CRAZY?!" the boy shouted.

Half the café flinched. A couple people actually stood from their seats.

Manager kept a straight face. "Yes, sir. That is the bill."

Miles shrugged casually. "What happened? Can’t pay?"

Mishell folded her arms, voice dripping venom.

"You two are the WORST. This is a scam. You and the manager planned it! Trying to rob rich people!"

Miles laughed under his breath.

"Didn’t your boyfriend say he could buy this café just by standing here? But he can’t even afford one cup of coffee. How tragic."

The boy’s ears turned red.

"W-wait. My dad will handle this! He’ll send you both to prison!"

And then—

A sudden deep voice cut through the air like a blade.

"How dare you speak like that?"

The boy froze. His confident smirk evaporated.

He turned slowly.

"D–Dad??"

Whispers rippled across the room like wildfire.

"Isn’t that... Owen Brooks?"

"Owner of UrbanCore Properties..."

"Oh god. That idiot’s finished."

"UrbanCore is DONE. RIP."

"Did the manager call him? Genius move."

The staff pretended not to listen—but they were absolutely listening.

The boy puffed his chest, relieved.

"Dad, you came at the RIGHT time! These scammers charged ONE MILLION dollars for a coffee!"

Mishell crossed her arms proudly.

"Teach them a lesson, Mr. Brooks."

Owen Brooks didn’t even slow down. He walked straight to them, face thunderous—

SMACK!

His hand cracked across his son’s face so loud the café gasped.

The boy staggered, holding his cheek, eyes wide with disbelief.

The café was silent after that slap.

Nobody even breathed.

Owen Brooks bowed his head slightly toward Miles — a man who outranked him without needing to say a word.

"Mr. Sterling," Owen said, voice low, sincere, terrified of offending,

"My deepest apologies. My ignorant son has offended you. I... am ashamed."

The boy was still holding his cheek, confused, humiliated.

"Dad, why are you hitting me like that, just for a—"

Owen’s eyes widened in warning, "Don’t. Finish. That. Sentence."

"—for a... comman— "

SMACK!

Another slap.

Owen pointed at Miles with trembling respect,

"You fool. That is Mr. Miles Sterling. The man who OWNS the entire Cinder Square. The mall, the towers, the block you walk on, the floor you are standing on — all his."

The boy’s jaw dropped. Mishell froze mid-breath.

"What..."

"But... I—I thought..."

Miles simply sat, expression unreadable, resting one arm on the table as if he’d seen this scene a thousand times.

Reality crashed into the boy all at once.

He bowed so fast his forehead almost hit the table.

"I am sorry! Mr. Sterling, please forgive me! I... I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know!"

And then — classic panic instinct — he threw Mishell straight under the bus.

"She lied! Sir, she tricked me, she said you were poor, she—"

Mishell gasped defensively, "Hey! You were bullying me so I had to act! He was stalking me for days! I just—"

The boy snapped and lunged a hand toward her arm, ready to yank her.

Before his fingers touched her —

Miles’ hand caught his wrist mid-air.

Calm.

Cold.

Steel-like grip.

Miles stood slowly, eyes level with the boy’s trembling ones.

"That’s enough."

He released him. The boy stumbled back like he’d touched a live wire.

Miles’ voice was quiet... and somehow more terrifying because of it.

"Mr. Brooks, I’ll let this go. He insulted me — fine. I don’t care about that."

Miles’ tone sharpened.

"But he insulted my mother. I want him to apologize to her — personally."

Owen nodded instantly.

"I will take him myself. We will go right now."

Miles nodded once.

"You can leave."

Owen grabbed his son’s collar, dragging him toward the exit.

The boy kept bowing while being dragged, panic breaking his voice,

"I—I’m sorry, Mr. Sterling! I swear I’ll apologize! I’m sorry!"

They disappeared out the door.

Silence lingered only a second before Mishell sighed dramatically and leaned forward.

"I’m really sorry, okay? He was making my life miserable... so I had to pretend. Now that he’s gone, we can enjoy our blind date."

Miles blinked once.

"...What date?"

Mishell’s smile twitched.

The entire café quietly died laughing inside.

Miles stood, picking up his coat.

"This was never a date."

He didn’t raise his voice.

He didn’t insult her.

He just walked away — and somehow that stung worse than anything else.

Mishell’s mouth hung open as Miles passed her without a second glance, leaving only the cold coffee cup and a shattered ego behind.