Chapter 725 Elliot: She Will Be Mine from Now On 1
With Elliot included, there were about a dozen people in the private room. The air was loud with laughter and the clink of glasses.
No one except Celine knew that Elliot and Molly had history. So when the rich kids started getting rowdy, they didn't spare her. She was the prettiest in the room, and they made sure she knew it—by pushing drinks her way.
Three glasses of red wine were set down in front of her, side by side.
Cameron Garrett pulled a check from his jacket pocket, already filled out for ten million dollars. He tapped the glasses with a finger and said, "Looking for investment? Down these three, and this check is yours. Consider it my buy-in."
Three full glasses like that would drop anyone.
Celine's smile was quick and practiced. "Molly's supposed to keep you company at the card table, Mr. Garrett. Why don't I drink these, and we pour you another three?"
She had barely filled two more when Cameron's hand came down over hers, stopping her.
"I said Molly," he sneered. "Who the hell are you? You think you can drink in her place and it means the same?"
Celine kept her smile, but her eyes flickered. Molly's health wasn't great—three glasses like that could wreck her. For all her sharp tongue, Celine wasn't cruel. She had no stomach for watching Molly be pushed past her limit.
But Molly's voice cut in, soft and even. "I'll do it."
Celine frowned. "Molly, don't."
The men waved Celine away, calling her old and annoying, and shoved her toward the door. She called Molly's name from the hall, ready to pull her out if she changed her mind.
Molly gave a faint smile. "We came here for investment, didn't we?"
Her chest felt tight as she spoke. Elliot was sitting right there.
She had been to more parties than she could count, drunk more liquor than she cared to remember. She had thrown up in alleys, sobbed on sidewalks, made a fool of herself in every way possible. But never had she felt this stripped bare.
And she didn't back down.
If Elliot thought she was ruined, why bother pretending otherwise? The roles she landed were bought with drinks and dinners—there was nothing to hide.
The door clicked shut.
Silence settled. Every pair of eyes was on her, waiting for her to choke, to stumble. She knew Celine was right outside. She didn't think twice. She lifted the first glass and drained it.
Her neck was slender; the movement of her throat was almost delicate. A ribbon of dark red slid from the corner of her mouth. There was something cruel in the way the room watched.
The noise swelled. Women called her name like a dare. A man tilted a bottle over her, splashing wine until it ran down her hair and into her eyes.
She couldn't breathe.
Her white dress soaked through, clinging to her skin. The wine dripped from the hem in steady drops.
Somewhere in the din, a voice piped up, "Molly, is it that time of the month?"
"Yeah, looks like it. Heavy flow too."
"You'd better get the overnight kind."
Laughter broke out. The rich boys joined in.
Molly forced her eyes wide. If she didn't blink, the tears wouldn't fall. What was there to feel sorry for? This was how the game was played. If it wasn't her, it would be someone else. Money was money.
The room hit peak frenzy.
And then—sharp and sudden—the sound of shattering glass.
Elliot had slammed an ashtray into the table.
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