James, working at private dining events, crosses swords with a billionaire’s daughter Hazel. She nitpicks on everything he does. Even the most patient man, has his limits
I grew up working in the kitchen. The moment i could land myself a job, i started working at fast food joints when i was in secondary 3. My family isn’t exactly well to do, and i barely get any pocket money from my dad who does odd jobs. My siblings had to depend on me to give them their allowance whenever my paycheck comes in.
It’s not easy trying to study and work at the same time. My friends who does part time work did so for ‘extras’, they want to pay for their concert tickets, or buy stuff. I did it for survival.
Thankfully, i scraped through my diploma. Getting into OCS when i was in the army was a blessing, don’t get me wrong, i don’t give a fuck about the rank or the training. I care only about the allowance.
It allowed me to continue giving my siblings an allowance while they were in Junior college.
By the time i ORD, they were pretty much doing ok giving tuition while in university.
Monday to Fridays, i work in a family style Cai Fan stall. It’s rare for F&B to not operate on weekends but this one, is smacked right in the middle of the city. There are no office crowds on the weekend. So my saturday and sunday are free.
As you well know, it’s difficult to survive on a single paycheck in Singapore, especially if you have to take care of your parents, and saving up for your own place.
Come weekends, i will take up part time gigs. One that pays rather well i must say.
I became a waiter at private dining events for the rich.
The rich host all sorts of parties at home all the time, and they always need extra help. The pay is good. i get about 180 each time, not including tips. And the best of all, i get to take home the leftovers.
You must be thinking ‘wah lau, so cheapo, eat leftovers’ , well, i take home untouched baked lobsters. A5 wagyu steaks. I take home fresh Uni, ok, Uni that has been left out for a few hours but i’m still breathing.
While you were eating supper with your friends at a prata shop, i’m eating Indomee with lobster, beef, uni, and the best of all, fresh oysters.
Half finished bottles of wine? checked.
Truffle shavings? checked
I once brought home a fucking cheese wheel used only for making pasta for dinner.
The rich, lives a life beyond most of our imagination.
We eat prata, left over curry, we throw. No point keep right?
They can have a whole parma leg of ham, carve it for a few hours and they throw. To them, no point keep. Don’t look good for the next party. Live prawns brought in at 7pm ? By 11pm, they were all out of the water and dead, keep for what?
This is their line of reasoning, a luxury common folks like us will not understand.
As a waiter in the exclusive realm of private dining for the wealthy, I had grown accustomed to the opulence that surrounded me. Crystal chandeliers, gold-rimmed plates, and wine glasses that cost more than my monthly pay were just part of the backdrop.
My job was to blend into the scenery, to be invisible yet impeccable, serving courses with precision and a smile that never wavered. I poured champagne for CEOs, carved filet mignon for socialites, and cleared plates for heirs to fortunes I couldn’t even fathom.
It was a world of excess, and I was just a cog in its glittering machine.
But one weekend, everything changed. The gig was at a sprawling estate overlooking Botanic garden, a modern palace of glass and steel owned by a billionaire whose name was synonymous with power and innovation.
The guest list was small but elite, and the stakes were high. Every detail had to be perfect.
That’s when I met her—Hazel. The billionaire’s daughter. She was the kind of beautiful that made you look twice, but it wasn’t her looks that struck me first. It was the way she carried herself, like the world owed her something.
To put it in the most Singaporean way, one would say Hazel had that ‘come fuck me’ look when she is not smiling.
And when she is, she changed the look to ‘fuck you you poor sod’
Her neutral expression when you meet her eyes?
‘Who the fuck you think you are?’
Hazel possesses a wonderful physique, neither too slim nor overweight—what I would describe as an ideal body for bearing children. She has nicely shaped hips, well-proportioned legs, and attractive breasts. Her figure is curvy in all the right areas while maintaining a slender appearance.
She has hips that you could just hold onto and ram into her from behind for hours and not get tired.
She was arrogant, high and mighty, and made no effort to hide her disdain for the “help.”
The evening had started like any other. I moved through the dining room with practiced ease, balancing trays of delicate canapés and refilling glasses of vintage Bordeaux.
The guests were the usual mix of old money and new wealth, their laughter ringing out like the chime of fine crystal. But then there was Hazel. She sat at the head of the table, her posture regal, her expression bored.
From the moment I entered the room, her eyes followed me—not with curiosity, but with a kind of predatory amusement, as if she were waiting for me to slip up.
I’ve worked long enough, met enough people to catch on to hostile vibes. And i did not like the look at Hazel was giving me but i was depending on her father to pay me. So, i just got to suck it up and remain professional.
It didn’t take long for her to start.
Hazel : you…
Her voice cutting through the hum of conversation like a knife.
Hazel : This wine is room temperature. Do you even know what that does to the flavor?
Her tone was dripping with condescension, and the table fell silent, all eyes turning to me. I forced a polite smile, apologizing and replacing her glass with one freshly chilled.
But that was just the beginning.
Throughout the night, she found ways to nitpick everything I did. The way I held the serving tray, the angle at which I poured the wine, even the way I placed the silverware—nothing escaped her scrutiny.
Hazel : Do you even know what you are doing? If you don’t know what to do, i suggest you get someone else to do it. It’s for your own good.
She asked at one point, her voice loud enough for everyone to hear.
The other guests chuckled nervously, but I kept my composure, nodding politely and correcting whatever minor “mistake” she had pointed out. It was clear she was enjoying herself, relishing the power she had to make me squirm.
By the end of the night, I was seething. I feel like grabbing her hair and just smash her face into the cake on the table.
The final course by the private chef, was a pastry, one where you need to light the small candle at the tip, and then then fucking cake will suddenly open up like an alien egg, revealing the piece of cake in the middle.
Yes, another excessive display of ‘kay gan’ (additional step which achieves nothing ) for the rich who obviously enjoys such presentation.
Hazel, with her nicely manicured nails and all, did not know how to use a lighter. There weren’t enough of the trigger type to go around, the guest had to share. However, there were a couple of those cheap lighter where you spin the wheel to strike the flint and press down the lever at the same time.
She tried, she couldn’t do it. Other guest did it with no issue, she is the only one that has yet to open her cake and i could tell she was irritated.
I went over to her and asked if she needed help.
James : Mam…do you need help?
Hazel : Tsk…no need!.
She tried again and end up chipping her nail with the cheap lighter.
Hazel : arnghhh!
She thrust the lighter into my hand and folded her arms, expecting me to do it for her.
I struck and lit the candle fuse on her cake cover, and added at the same time.
James : If you don’t know what to do, i suggest you get someone else to do it.
Hazel’s eyes widened in horror and i saw that look of disbelief on her face.
It felt so damm good despite knowing i may not get paid that evening.
The cake cover opened up and as i straightened myself, i gestured to the dessert.
James : enjoy your cake Mam…
Little did I know, that small act of defiance would set off a chain reaction. In the weeks to come, Hazel would go out of her way to make my life difficult, testing my patience at every turn. But I was ready. If she wanted a game, I’d play—and I’d play to win.
15100 words
This looks interesting. would like this to be posted soon