?Chapter 1299:


    It came out barely louder than a whisper. She looked so light—like she might fall apart at any moment.


    Tilting her head back, she downed the liquor.


    Fire scorched her throat, racing down into her empty stomach. Her body recoiled instantly—coughing, shaking. Tears spilled from the corners of her eyes.


    She bent forward, struggling to breathe.


    “Atta girl!” Fred roared withughter, pping her on the back. His palm dragged across her bare skin, lingering too long.


    She flinched. He didn’t seem to notice or didn’t care.


    The room spun hard. Her heels felt like stilts.


    All she could think about was getting out—even for a moment. Just enough to catch her breath.


    “Excuse me… I need to use the restroom…”


    She pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to steady herself, trying to swallow the nausea wing up her throat. She took a cautious step to the side, aiming to slip past Fred.


    But he wasn’t about to let her walk away that easily. He’d finally gotten her to drink. No way he was letting the moment fizzle now.


    Before she could move again, his arm slid around her waist. His handnded on her bare skin—damp, too warm.


    “You don’t need the restroom, sweetheart. You must be tired from all that standing. Come sit, yeah? Take your time with the next one.”


    His voice was falsely gentle, almost mocking. And before she could push back, he was already steering her back to the sofa, heavy-handed and insistent.


    Shended on the cushion with no say in it. Directly across from William.


    LΑτ??τ chαρτ?rs ιn g??l??ov?l??.??????


    She didn’t dare look at him—but she felt his eyes on her. Steady. Detached. The kind of gaze that peeledyers back without lifting a finger. Her skin prickled.


    Fred flopped down beside her, his weight tipping the bnce of the couch. She shrank instinctively, wedged deeper into the corner, boxed in with nowhere to go.


    Fred grabbed the bottle again, casually topping off the ss in front of Ste. His breath was thick with alcohol when he leaned in. “Come on, Ms. Russell,” he said, grinning wide. “Good thingse in pairs, right? Just one more. Mr. Briggs already said you can drink. Don’t tell me you’re faking it.”


    He shoved the full ss toward her, the amber liquid sloshing as it slid across the table.


    Her stomach twisted. She stared at the liquor like it was poison. The scent alone made her throat tighten. Breathing suddenly took effort.


    Her fingers curled hard around the edge of the sofa, knuckles pale against the upholstery.


    She tried to remember—had she ever gone to dinners like this with Marc? Nothing came.


    And Marc… he never would’ve let this happen. He’d been overprotective, even annoyingly so. There was no way he’d have let her be passed around like this, let alone pressured to drink.


    This story William was spinning? About her being used to it? Just another lie. Just another stage for humiliation.


    .


    .


    .