For a second, everything went quiet. Then the man lit up like he had just won something.
“Of course I will,” he said quickly, leaning forward, eyes dragging over me in a way that made my skin crawl. “Fifty-two million isn’t a problem. But you have to earn it, right?”
He glanced at Argus.
Argus didn’t stop him. He just sat there, swirling his drink, watching me like I was nothing.
That was all the permission the man needed.
“Waiter,” he called out, snapping his fingers. “Bring thirty glasses. The strongest you’ve got.”
My stomach dropped. Thirty?
The bottles came quickly, lined up in front of me like a punishment I couldn’t escape.
“Dahlia, if you finish all of these tonight, every drop, I’ll transfer the fifty-two million immediately. No tricks. You’ve got my word.”
My fingers curled. Could I even survive that? Did it matter?
I picked up the first glass without thinking anymore.
The moment the liquid hit my throat, it burned. No, it tore through me, like it was ripping me open from the inside. My stomach twisted violently and I almost choked, my eyes stinging as tears threatened to fall.
I forced it down.
Don’t stop. You can’t stop.