“Of course I will,” he said quickly, leaning forward, eyes dragging over me in a way that made my skin crawl. “Fifty-two million isn’t a problem. But you have to earn it, right?”
He glanced at Argus.
Argus didn’t stop him. He just sat there, swirling his drink, watching me like I was nothing.
That was all the permission the man needed.
“Waiter,” he called out, snapping his fingers. “Bring thirty glasses. The strongest you’ve got.”
My stomach dropped. Thirty?
The bottles came quickly, lined up in front of me like a punishment I couldn’t escape.
“Dahlia, if you finish all of these tonight, every drop, I’ll transfer the fifty-two million immediately. No tricks. You’ve got my word.”
My fingers curled. Could I even survive that? Did it matter?
I picked up the first glass without thinking anymore.
The moment the liquid hit my throat, it burned. No, it tore through me, like it was ripping me open from the inside. My stomach twisted violently and I almost choked, my eyes stinging as tears threatened to fall.
I forced it down.
Don’t stop. You can’t stop.
I could hear them laughing. Feel their eyes on me. Disgust. Amusement. Curiosity. Especially his.
But I didn’t look at Argus. I couldn’t.
I just kept drinking.
Glass after glasses.
My hands shook, my vision blurred, and cold sweat soaked through my back. At some point, I couldn’t even taste it anymore. It was just pain, raw and endless.
Why am I still doing this?
Because I had no choice. Because I needed the money. Because without it, my father…
No.
I finished the last glass and slammed it down on the table. The room spun, my head felt like it was about to split open.
I forced myself to stand straight, even if my knees almost gave out. I reached out my hand toward the man.
“M-money,” I said, my voice hoarse. “Y-you said… you’d give it to me.”
The man didn’t answer right away. He turned to Argus instead, smirking.
“Argus, what do you think? Should I pay her? She did pretty well.”
Argus looked at me, “Give it to her. It’s just fifty-two million. Think of it as charity.”
Charity.
The word hit harder than anything else tonight.
The man laughed and pulled out a bank card, tossing it to the floor at my feet.
“Here. Don’t say I’m not generous.”
I bent down slowly, my fingers trembling as I picked it up. I didn’t say thank you.
I just turned and walked out as fast as I could, almost running.
My father.
With this money, his surgery could finally go through.