Michael Stone reached into his back pocket and pulled out his sleek, leather wallet. From it, he retrieved a black credit card — the kind with no limit and rarely seen by the likes of anyone at this rooftop gathering. He handed it to Clara, still shivering in the pool. “Here,” he said, his voice firm yet kind. “Take this. Buy yourself something nice, or cover your rent. You shouldn’t have to suffer for someone else’s cruelty.”
Clara hesitated, unsure of what to do. But the sincerity in Michael’s eyes convinced her to take the card. The crowd watched in silence, the murmurs of gossip replaced by a hushed reverence. Karen stood frozen, her face flushed with embarrassment, realizing the tables had turned.
Michael wasn’t done yet. He turned to the resort manager, who had been standing awkwardly on the sidelines. “I trust you’ll deal with this appropriately?” Michael said, his tone leaving no room for argument. The manager nodded vigorously, promising to ensure Clara’s safety and dignity.
