"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."