The First Heir by Master Yu Who Smokes

“Wait, Philip, hold on. Why the rush? It’s not always that we get to meet old classmates. Let’s talk for a little longer.” Wesley ran after him. Philip’s eyebrows furrowed further, his expression darkening. There was little he and Wesley Warren had in common. Philip would very much rather not deal with old classmates like him anymore. They had changed—changed into people of greater statuses. Philip shook his head and said coldly, “Back then, you were but a piece of trash to me, Wesley Warren. Though I did not expect that you’d still be a piece of trash now.” Wesley froze. “What did you say?”

He did not expect a sentence like that to come out from the mouth of a good-for-nothing like Philip Clarke. He called him a piece of trash? Who was the real piece of trash here? “You think that now you’re the manager of Arc de Triumph, you’re at the top of the world? So cool now, are you? So you’re showing it off to rub it in my face? What’s wrong with us delivery boys?

the flames, he did not expect his toleration to result in the other’s aggravation. “Haha! Philip Clarke you dumb f*cker, are you kidding me?” Wesley laughed, his expression potent with means to mock. “I, the manager of

doubt if you can even earn six thousand. Perhaps you only earn slightly more than five thousand a month. What do you have that’s better than me in terms of familial background, status, and contacts? How am I not better than you, Philip Clarke? Yeah, I’m f*cking better than you,

in my eyes! So what if I think I’m better than you all?” Wesley seemed proud of himself. Not only had Wesley offended Philip with what he said, but he also offended all

Many had resorted to violence. They were letting their fists do the talking. Right then, tens of bodyguards rushed to the scene. With Wesley protected behind them, the bodyguards stood off against Philip’s mob of people. “F*ck! They have the f*cking galls to hit me! What are you doing? Get this group of busybodies out!” Wesley roared as he straightened his suit and touched the spot on his face where he had been punched. The group of bodyguards had Philip’s mob of people surrounded in an instant. Merely surrounded

clients?” Wesley sneered, a mocking expression painting his face. He then slapped the head of security, pointed his finger at him, and began to reprimand. “Who’s the manager here? If I tell