?Chapter 1300:


    Fred had edged closer, his knee nearly brushing hers now. She turned her head and forced the words out, her voice dry and barely audible. “I really can’t drink anymore. I’m sorry… Please. Ask someone else.”


    Fred made a clicking sound with his tongue.


    The fake charm vanished from his face. His smile ttened into a sneer.


    “Not cool, Ms. Russell.” His tone dropped. “You keep turning me down.”


    He looked past her, straight at William. “Mr. Briggs, seriously. You brought someone like this? No manners at all.”


    The room tensed for a beat. William didn’t even look up. He just swirled the wine in his ss, watching the red whirl inzy spirals. A faint smile yed at his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes.


    “Mr. Turner is showing you respect,” he said tly. “Don’t be ungrateful.”


    That sentence broke something in her. Clean and deep. Her chest felt hollow, her legs numb.


    So that was what she was now? A tool? A toy? Something he could dress up and hand off to clients when the mood struck?


    She didn’t know what deal William was trying to make with this man. He didn’t need her for it, that was for sure.


    The Briggs family could get anything they wanted in Choria.


    No one had the guts to say no.


    This wasn’t business. This was cruelty, dressed up in suits and smiles.


    The ss in Fred’s hand caught the light again, and her gaze stuck to it. She wasn’t seeing the drink anymore.


    She was seeing herself reflected back in it—stripped down, degraded.


    Everything she’d ever built inside—every ounce of effort to believe she had worth, that her past didn’t define her—it all cracked in that moment.


    In that moment, everything was crushedpletely.


    A bitterugh slipped out before she could stop it.


    Fred stiffened. Her silence, her refusal, herugh—it all made him look small, and he knew it. That was enough.


    With a sharp breath, he raised his hand and swung toward her face.


    She didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. She just closed her eyes.


    If it was a p, fine. At least it meant she wouldn’t have to drink.


    But the blow nevernded.


    A hand—bigger, faster—snapped up and caught Fred’s wrist mid-swing.


    Steven.


    Steven’s usual easygoing smile had vanished. What reced it was colder, steadier, edged with warning. “Mr. Turner,” he said, voice low, “drinking is one thing. Raising your hand is something else entirely.”


    He didn’t raise his voice, but the words still cut through the room. The noise dropped. Eyes shifted toward him, surprised.


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