"Oops." He gasped with theatrical shock, a vicious smirk splitting his face. "My hand slipped. Young Master Mason, don't mind it. Just think of it as a bath to wash off that poor, sour stench of yours."
The private room went silent for a heartbeat—then erupted into raucous laughter.
Kevin rocked Elisa in his arms, howling. "Evan, you're wasting good alcohol! That wine is worth more than his life."
Elisa didn't intervene.
She only frowned and shrank back, as though terrified the splashed wine might stain her custom haute couture.
"So filthy," she muttered, disgust dripping from every syllable. "Adam, go to the restroom and clean yourself up. Don't be an eyesore. You're making a fool of yourself."
I wiped my face. Wine and sweat mingled, bitter and astringent on my tongue.
But I didn't move. I remained on that small stool in the corner, gaze fixed on the time.
Only a few hours left.
This 1,095-day prison sentence was finally ending.
"Adam Mason!"
Seeing me motionless, Elisa's patience shattered. Her voice pitched upward. "I told you to get out. Didn't you hear me? Do I have to call security to throw you out?"