?<strong>Chapter 492:</strong>


    Working at the club meant dealing with all kinds of people, knowing how to talk the right way to each one. And Daxton wasn’t just anyone.


    His demeanor, his connections, and the air of danger that surrounded him demanded careful handling.


    The manager gestured for Madilyn to leave quickly, not wanting to provoke Daxton further. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves and opened the door to the private room.


    Inside, Daxton satzily, his sharp gaze cutting through the room like a knife.


    “Mr. Garcia,” the manager began nervously, bowing slightly. “Madilyn is new, she didn’t mean to offend you. Whatever went wrong, I deeply apologize on her behalf. If you prefer a different type, I can find someone else for you.”


    Daxton’s assistant, a man in a sleek ck suit, stepped forward before Daxton could respond. “No need,” the assistant said coldly. “There’s nothing for you to handle here. You can leave.”


    The assistant walked over to Daxton and said respectfully, “Mr. Garcia, I’m here to take you back to rest.”


    The manager quickly nodded and began backing out of the room.


    “Wait,” the assistant called after him.


    The manager froze, his heart pounding. “Yes, sir?”


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    The assistant’s tone was icy. “In the future, when Mr. Garciaes alone, don’t send any women to his room. Do you understand?”


    “Yes, yes, of course,” the manager stammered, sweat beading on his forehead. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”


    As he left, a strange thought crept into his mind. If Mr. Garcia didn’t like women… could it be that he preferred…


    The idea startled him, and he nearly tripped over his own feet.


    Daxton, so polished and refined, might have those kinds of preferences?


    “The wealthy always have their peculiar tastes,” he concluded, shaking his head as he hurried away.


    Daxton leaned back on the leather sofa, his expression unreadable. He reached for a ss on the table, but his assistant moved swiftly, pouring wine into the ss and offering it to him with both hands.


    Daxton didn’t take the ss. Instead, he grabbed a nearby bottle of whiskey. He tilted his head back and downed nearly a third of it in one go, then tossed the bottle carelessly to the floor. He watched as the amber liquid pooled across the polished tiles.


    Rolling his neck to release the tension, he spoke slowly, his voice low and firm. “Find me an underground fight club.”


    Meanwhile, Kristopher led Carrie to his exclusive presidential suite on the top floor of the Norris-owned hotel. Her cheeks flushed, her eyes glimmering with affection as she nced up at him. She looked fragile yet captivating, like a blooming flower swaying in the wind.


    Kristopher’s heart pounded as desire stirred deep within him. Her delicate beauty and the subtle trust in her gaze only intensified his need to im her, to make her his.


    Kristopher shut the door and pressed Carrie against it firmly. He kissed her passionately, his hand naturally finding its way to the gentle slope of her neck. His fingers tenderly brushed her skin, tracing her pulsing heartbeat up her neck until his grip tightened.


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