Chapter 40
The man in the jacket leaned in even closer, "Come on, scream for me."
There was a sharp crack, and suddenly, glass shards showered over his head.
Molly stood there, half a bottle in hand, pointed right at the aggressor, fury in her eyes. "Stay away from my friend!"
Blood streaked down one side of his face as he flared up in anger, clutching his head. He pointed at Molly and spat, "You little tease, dressed like that for the bar—you're just asking for it. Just drop the innocent pretense already!"
He grabbed a bottle from the table, leering at Harper with dark intent, "I'm going to have my fun with you tonight!"
Upstairs, a waiter glanced at Wesley, asking, "Should we step in?"
Wesley chuckled, "No need for us to get involved."
As chaos ensued below, suddenly, there was another loud crash.
The bottle the man held took a sudden detour, smashing his own head. Now, his face was symmetrically bloodied.
As he opened his mouth to curse, "Who the fu—" his words cut short when his arm was twisted behind him and, with a quick shoulder throw, he was face down on the floor, a boot pinning his head.
The bar erupted with his agonized screams.
"Like smashing bottles, do you?" An icy male voice came from above.
The man fought to open his eyes, his vision blurred by blood before him stood another man, his face stained red, though still remarkably handsome, albeit with a menacing, demonic expression.
Just then, the man snapped his fingers, and a server wheeled over a cart of liquors, each bottle crowned with a blinding fluorescent marker signifying its prestigious status.
With a sudden release of his foot and a flick of the wrist, a bottle shattered to pieces. A loud bang filled the air.
The razor-sharp glass came within a hair's breadth of piercing the eye of the man in the jacket.
"Ah... ah... ahh!" His screams were the kind that an animal on the brink of death might emit. They carried a piercing terror that sent shivers down the spines of onlookers.
Everyone now regarded the handsome man with a mix of fear and awe. Clearly, he was not to be trifled with.
Francis' gaze fell upon the crimson stain spreading on the floor. Raising an eyebrow, he said coolly, "Keep screaming. Didn't you enjoy it?"
Unable to utter anything beyond a hoarse rasp, the man in the jacket could do nothing more.
The buzz of the bar had been silenced by fear.
"That's enough, clean this up," commanded Wesley as he approached, addressing the security guard in a calm voice.
The guard removed the man, now limp and inert like a gutted pig, while the staff hurriedly cleaned the scene. Following Wesley's instructions, the vibe team resumed their duties, gradually restoring the noise level to its previous intensity.
He then sauntered over to Francis and quipped slyly, "For the booze and the services, it's on your tab."
That was a bottle worth eight hundred thousand. It was quite a waste for taking down a miscreant.
Francis ignored him and grabbed Harper's arm, his voice icy, "Come with me."
Without hesitation, Harper shook off his grip and flatly refused, "No, I'm leaving with Molly."
The disdain was evident, and Harper made no attempt to hide it.
Wesley couldn't contain a snort of laughter. After all, Francis was a top-tier gentleman chased by legions of women who could circle Westerlyn multiple times. Being scorned was new to him.
"Little Harper, you are just too adorable," Wesley sighed. A brave woman indeed, doing what he'd longed to but never dared. She rejected Francis outright. That alone would give her bragging rights for life.
Francis, unable to maintain his composure at that laughter, shot a chilly look toward Wesley and coldly warned, "If you don't want that mouth, donate it."
Wesley immediately mimed zipping his lips, signaling he'd stay quiet.
"Are you coming or not?" Francis asked again.
"No!" Harper dismissed him, her expression cold. "Francis, we are getting a divorce!"
Unsaid was that he had no right to interfere in an ex-wife's affairs.
His refined face seemed to frost over at her words, sending a chill through the air.
"As long as I'm your husband, I have every right to care for you and weigh in with your affairs."
With those words, he reached out, yanked her forcefully into his arms, and carried her away bridal style.
Harper flailed against his chest, yelling, "Francis, put me down! Put me down!"
But her efforts were as futile as a kitten tickling a lion.
Wesley chuckled from behind, shaking his head at the man who seemed to speak one thing while his heart harbored another. It was clear who truly didn't want the divorce.
Molly attempted to pursue Harper but found her path blocked by Wesley's outstretched hand.
"Molly, Harper will be fine. Robert's waiting for you upstairs," Wesley reassured her, his voice calm.
The color drained from Molly's face, her knees seemingly weakening, but Wesley steadied her with a quick hand.
"What seems to be the problem, Molly?" Wesley inquired, his face etched with confusion.
'What on earth had Robert done to instill such fear in Molly?'
Regaining her composure, Molly replied, "It's nothing. Thank you, Wesley."
Then, with a pale face and determined steps, she headed upstairs.
Her silhouette bore a touch of finality.
The door to the upstairs private room was ajar.
Approaching, the sounds that greeted her made her flush and quickened her pulse.
Molly hesitantly made her way inside, each step as heavy as if her feet were bound with concrete.
The moans grew louder as she drew nearer, assaulting her ears.
The room was bright, and on the couch, a man with a fierce profile gripped a woman's waist as they entwined, the woman's face a portrait of pleasure, dripping with seduction.
"You're so bad..." she cooed.
"Do you like it?" he whispered hotly into her ear.
"I love it... so bad..."
Outside, Molly didn't want to enter but remembered last time. She braced herself and stepped in.
On the couch, Robert lazily opened his eyes to see Molly's ashen face, and his interest was piqued, his demeanor growing even more insolent.
Molly's heart skipped a beat, aware that he was deliberately making her witness this scene.
"My lord..."
The woman, sensing the man's cooling passion, clung tighter, breathlessly calling out to him.
Robert's cold laughter echoed, maintaining his position with a gaze filled with lasciviousness that seemed to emanate from his very bones.
The woman turned in satisfaction only to catch sight of someone at the door. She immediately covered herself, letting out a startled scream.
Upon realizing she was facing another woman and assuming Molly to be one of her own kind, she gave a scornful glare and snapped, "Ever heard of knocking? Total buzzkill!"
She then looked back at the man with a pout, "My lord, you really are the worst, enjoying this kind of thrill..."
Robert gently stroked the woman's hair and tossed a thick stack of cash her way. "Go buy yourself something nice."
Her eyes lit up at the sight of the money. This guy was beyond generous. Just a few minutes of cuddling and smooching, and they hadn't even done it, yet he'd handed her several thousand dollars.
'Truth be told, the man is stunning. I'll be more than happy to take it further with him,' the woman thought.
Satisfied, she dressed and got to her feet. As she passed Molly, she scoffed, "Hurry up and get to work. You're on the job. Don't like some princess."
The door slammed shut, and silence filled the room.
Molly remained standing as if frozen in place.
Robert was still in the same casual position, so confident that he saw no need to cover up.
"Aren't you going to move?" His voice was icy.
Molly took a step forward but stopped a foot away from the sofa. Suddenly, her wrist was yanked hard, and she tumbled onto the man's legs.
His skin still felt sticky from the recent encounter, and she fought back a wave of nausea.
'Dirty. They are so dirty.'
Robert could easily guess her thoughts, a low chuckle betraying a hint of sneer. "Do you really think you're any cleaner than she was?"
Her face drained of all color at his words.
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