My Second Chance
Copyright© 2026 by BillMax
Chapter 27: Upper Class, Lower Class
No one noticed when Marcus Hale had arrived in front of Celia Sutton and slapped her—not even Celia Sutton herself, who was dumbstruck on the spot.
“If I ever hear another disrespectful word from you about my wife, I’ll cut out your tongue!”
Marcus’s voice was as cold as ice, sending shivers down Celia Sutton’s spine, finally feeling the pain in her face.
“You low-class worker, you ... you dare to hit me?”
Turning around, she grabbed Felix Crowley’s arm, her voice tinged with sobbing. “Honey, he hit me...”
Felix Crowley’s face turned a livid color. “Marcus Hale, I’m warning you. Get on your knees and slap your own face to apologize to my woman right now, or else I’ll make sure you regret it!”
“What do you mean by regret it? Fight me? Or call the police to arrest me?”
“Fight? That’s something only low-life trash like you would do, and to clean up the likes of trash, calling the police is even less necessary. It’s just demeaning.”
Felix Crowley sneered with disdain, his expression haughty. “We upper-class people have plenty of civilized ways to make your life miserable.”
“Oh? Such as?”
“For example, I just need to make one phone call, and you wouldn’t even be able to land a job as a worker in Westlake’s territory. Even more, it’s not impossible that you might accidentally have your legs broken by bricks and stones while working.”
Hearing this, Claire Jensen panicked.
“Director Crowley, please, don’t be angry. It’s true that we were wrong to begin a fight, but you also heard it—Celia Sutton started by insulting us. This matter...”
“I did insult you. What are you going to do about it?”
Celia Sutton cursed on her tiptoes. “You’re just a shameless, cheap...”
Slap!
Marcus swung his hand again, leaving her to bleed from the mouth.
“Marcus Hale!”
Claire Jensen grabbed him, urgently saying, “Don’t be impulsive. Hitting people won’t solve anything. It will only make things worse!”
Marcus turned to her with a smile. “If the subject in question were human, you’d be correct, but it’s different now. Against an animal, not hitting them is useless. My dear, leave this to me. Just watch.”
“You...”
Claire Jensen was both furious and anxious, but she also understood that her husband was protecting her. Getting angry would only hurt him. She simply didn’t know what to do.
Meanwhile, Felix Crowley’s face had turned as black as the bottom of a pot.
“Good! Very good! Marcus Hale, it seems like you’d rather do this the hard way. Today, I’ll let you experience what social beatdown feels like!”
With that, he took out his cell phone to dial, but Marcus pressed his hand against it.
“What? Are you trying to beg for mercy now? It’s too late!”
“No, I just want to understand one question.” Marcus said indifferently, “What makes you think you’re better than us?”
“You even have to ask such an obvious question. Seems like your brain is as filthy and trashy as a worker’s.”
Felix Crowley patted the hood of his Jeep Wrangler. “Recognize what car this is? Know how much it costs? With your salary as a construction site laborer, you would need more than twenty years without eating or drinking to afford it. But for me, two years is enough. The status difference between us is more than tenfold. If that’s not considered high, then what is?”
“Oh, so being able to afford a good car means you’re an upper-class person, huh!”
Marcus nodded with an epiphany, then said, “So according to you, upper-class people can bully lower-class people as they please, and the lower-class can only suffer in silence, right?”
“Of course! Lower-class people are just dogs raised to serve the upper-class!”
“I see. Thanks for clearing that up, Director Crowley. One last question—have a look at my car and tell me how much it’s worth. Let’s see if I have the right to be considered upper-class.”
Saying that, Marcus took out his car keys from his pocket.
“You have a car? It’s not a domestic piece of junk, is it?” Felix Crowley scoffed. “That would only make you look lower and more garbag...”
His voice halted abruptly as with a press on the key fob by Marcus, the headlights of a black sedan not far diagonally across flashed twice.
Its robust frame, the authoritative temple-like grille, and the slowly ascending Spirit of Ecstasy—even someone as inexperienced with cars as Felix Crowley knew its name.
Rolls-Royce.
The world’s most luxurious and expensive brand!
The price tag for the most basic model was more than ten times that of his Jeep Wrangler.
“Look.”
Marcus said with a smile. “Coincidentally, I also have a car that you couldn’t afford even if you didn’t eat or drink for twenty or thirty years. So who’s upper-class and who’s trash between us?”
Felix Crowley had completely lost his composure, while Celia Sutton looked on like someone with dementia, her eyes fixed on the Rolls-Royce, filled with envy, jealousy, and greed.
Even Claire Jensen stood frozen for a moment. However, she quickly thought of something, and her expression relaxed.
“Impossible! This absolutely cannot be!”
Felix Crowley suddenly shouted loud. “You’re just a lowly worker. How could you possibly drive a Rolls-Royce? It’s fake! It must be fake. You ... you must have modified it to look like that, right?”
Marcus shook his head with sheer indifference and took Claire Jensen’s hand. “Playing with trash is really boring. Claire, let’s go have some pizza and steak.”
The two took a couple of steps towards the opposite side, then Marcus stopped and pulled out his cell phone, saying to Felix Crowley, “Sorry, I forgot to show you how civilized upper-class people deal with the lower-class.”
After making the call to Hannah Kane, he said straight away, “I dislike your company’s design department head, Felix Crowley, and the designer Celia Sutton. Come up with a reason yourself, but they have to be laid off today.”