Chapter 308:

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Elisa looked up. The man was tall, with a flushed face and bloodshot eyes. He wore an expensive suit that was rumpled and stained, and he reeked of expensive scotch and cheap cologne.

“Alone?” he slurred, leaning in close. “You look like you could use some company.”

“I’m fine,” Elisa said, turning away. “Please leave.”

The man didn’t move. He placed a heavy hand on the back of her chair, trapping her. “Come on, don’t be like that. I saw you at the party. You’re one of a kind, right? The pretty little assistant. I bet you’re looking for a real tip.”

Elisa’s skin crawled. “I said, leave me alone.”

She tried to stand up, but the man moved his other hand, grabbing her wrist. His grip was tight, his fingers digging into her skin.

“Don’t be a tease,” he sneered, his breath hot and foul on her face. “I know your type. You play hard to get, but you’re all the same. How much? Name your price.”

Elisa’s instinct kicked in. She twisted her arm, breaking his grip with a sharp, practiced move, and brought her other hand up, ready to strike.

But before she could, a different hand shot out.

A strong, elegant hand grabbed the drunk man’s wrist, twisting it backward with a vicious snap. The man howled in pain, stumbling back.

Preston Vance stepped between them, his face a mask of cold fury. He wore a perfectly tailored tuxedo, his dark hair slicked back, his eyes glittering with a dangerous light.

𝗗o𝗐𝗇𝗹𝗼а𝘥 PD𝗙𝘀 𝗳𝘳𝖾𝖾 о𝗇 𝗀а𝗅n𝘰𝘷е𝗅𝗌.𝗰о𝘮

“I believe the lady said no,” Preston said, his voice soft and lethal.

The drunk man, emboldened by alcohol and humiliation, took a swing. Preston dodged it easily, then drove his fist into the man’s jaw. The crack of bone was sickening. The man crumpled to the floor, out cold.

The bar went silent. Everyone was staring.

Elisa stared at Preston, her heart pounding. Then she looked past him, toward the entrance of the bar.

August hadn’t gone far, the fury from their confrontation still coiling in his gut. He’d turned on his heel, heading for the first place he could find a drink — the hotel’s famous bar — only to find a scene that made his blood run cold. August was standing there.

He had seen the whole thing. The drunk man grabbing her. Preston stepping in. The punch.

And he didn’t move. He simply watched, his expression cold and unmoved, as if observing a low-class street brawl that had unfortunately spilled into his line of sight. His lip curled into a faint, cruel sneer of vindication. This, his eyes seemed to say, was her world. This was the kind of trouble she attracted. He thought she deserved it. He thought she had provoked it.

The sneer was worse than a slap. It was a complete and utter rejection. He didn’t see her as his wife. He didn’t even see her as a human being. He saw her as garbage.

August’s expression of contempt faded into boredom, and he turned and walked out of the bar. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t offer to help. He just left.

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