Chapter 4

Dean kept his hand pressed to my head, grinding it down harder, his voice arrogant to the extreme. "Drew, I'll give you one chance."

"Admit in front of everyone that you're not worthy of Christine Pruitt, promise in front of everyone that you'll never dare show your face to us again, and I'll let you go."

I said nothing. I only clenched my fists.

Dean lifted his foot and stepped down on my back, sneering. "Not talking?"

"You've got some backbone. Let's see how long that lasts."

Pain shot through my back. My knees buckled, and I nearly went down.

Christine smiled sweetly. "Dean, just make him apologize and leave it there. We did know each other once, after all."

Dean scoffed. "Know each other?"

"Christine, you're just too kindhearted."

"A guy like this, if you don't teach him a lesson, he won't know his place."

He kicked me hard and jeered at the top of his voice. "You hear that? Christine's putting in a good word for you!"

"Get down on your knees and apologize, then crawl out of here, and we'll call it even for today."

I raised my head. The cream on my face blurred my sight.

They stood under the gilded lights, the perfect couple, and I looked like some clown, filthy and wrecked.

Rage burned through me. "You're going to regret this."

Dean's face was pure contempt. "I've lived my whole life without ever learning how to spell the word regret."

He waved at the security guards and said coldly, "Drag him out of here. Break his legs and dump him in the back alley. Let him sober up."

The guards hauled me up by the arms and started dragging me toward the door.

At that moment, the heavy doors of the banquet hall were shoved open.

A line of bodyguards in crisp black suits filed in, their presence cold and hard, and in an instant the noise across the room died.

At their head was an elderly man in a gray suit, his expression severe, commanding without a trace of anger.

Everyone froze, not knowing what was happening.

Dean's eyes lit up. He let go of me at once, straightened his suit, put on a smug smile, and strode over to meet him.

"Barrett, what are you doing here? Did my father send you?"

His tone was familiar and a little boastful. "Perfect timing. There's some blind fool in here causing trouble. Help me tell the bodyguards to give him a real beating—"

Barrett paid him no attention. He walked straight toward me.

The whole room went silent, every pair of eyes following him.

Barrett stopped in front of me, looked at the cream on my face, and something like pain and anger flickered in his eyes.

The next second, he bowed to me with deep respect.

"Young master, the master has sent me to bring you home!"