"Don’t worry, I’ll be there soon," he said, a flicker of reassurance in his voice as he answered a call. His expression darkened and he pressed hard on the accelerator without warning.
Watching his furrowed brows and tight expression, I couldn’t help but ask, "Is something wrong with work? If it’s urgent, you should take care of it."
He smiled, his gaze softening as he replied, "Even if the sky falls today, I’ll still take you there."
His words carried an unwavering determination as he clasped my hand in his. The warmth of his palm wrapped around my cold fingers and for a fleeting moment, the ache of losing my child dulled.
When we arrived at the hotel, he stepped out first, swiftly opening my door thoughtfully. Holding my hand, he guided me toward a private room he had carefully arranged in advance.
But as the door creaked open, the surprise I had hoped for dissolved instantly. A crowd of drunken men greeted me instead, their rowdy laughter echoing through the room.
The stench of alcohol mingled with greasy food assaulted my senses, churning my stomach and making me nauseous.
"Maxton, they forced me to drink, but I’m allergic to alcohol."
Priscilla dashed toward Maxton the moment she saw him, tears streaming as she buried herself in his arms, disregarding my presence entirely.
I was on the verge of losing control when a voice rang out from the table, dripping with mockery. "Priscilla has been completely pampered by Maxton. She won’t even share a glass of wine with us. Is it because Maxton loves her more than we do?"
Maxton immediately shielded Priscilla, his movements tender as he wiped away her tears and murmured reassuringly, "Don’t worry. I’ll handle the rest of the drinks for you."
With that, he turned to me. Without warning, he shoved me hard, his strength unrelenting. I staggered toward the table, barely keeping my balance.
The sharp ache in my lower abdomen flared as I collided with the edge of the table, sending wine bottles crashing to the ground. My body, still fragile from the recent procedure, struggled to bear the brunt of the blow.
"Priscilla isn’t feeling well," Maxton said coldly, his voice cutting through my pain. "Drink the rest for her."
As I stood there, trembling and unsteady, a drunken man with a glass in hand approached, his grin leering. "Well, if Priscilla won’t drink, why don’t you keep us company instead?"