Chapter 1

Neon lights flashed as loud music reverberated through Oak Hill Estate, the exclusive private club.

Emily Harrison weaved through the chaotic crowd, balancing a tray of drinks while trying her best to make sales.

She unconsciously tugged at her short uniform skirt—a non-negotiable club requirement.

Along with the skirt, she wore a pair of fluffy bunny ears on her head.

"Such a pretty face selling drinks—what a waste!" A drunken man suddenly stood up, blocking Emily's path. His eyes shamelessly scanned her up and down, his gaze predatory.

Emily turned to face him, her blue-green eyes clear and composed.

She wore heavy makeup, with slightly winged eyeliner and full red lips that, under the neon lights, made her look like a beautiful yet dangerous nocturnal creature.

"One drink costs one thousand dollars," She said calmly.

The man—Jason Lee, a locally known trust fund kid—was clearly stunned by Emily's beauty. He swallowed hard, his eyes full of admiration. "Really?"

His friends started to egg him on, whistling loudly.

"Who would have thought the great Ms. Harrison would end up selling drinks? If people heard this, they'd think it was a joke!"

"Jason, you hit the jackpot today! Don't miss this golden opportunity!"

Jason pulled out a credit card from his pocket, slammed it on the table, and made a grand gesture. "For every drink you down tonight, I'll transfer that amount. This might equal a month's salary for you in one night!"

Emily nodded decisively. "Deal."

She set down her tray and approached Jason's table. Rich playboys like him lived for the thrill. The table was covered with various alcohols, including several types of hard liquor.

Emily picked up a glass and downed it in one gulp.

The high-proof alcohol burned her throat and stomach with intense heat.

Tears immediately welled up in her eyes, but she fought the urge to vomit, digging her nails into her palm. Then she grabbed a second glass and emptied it just as quickly.

She needed the money.

The whistling from the VIP booth grew louder as Jason's eyes filled with anticipation.

Emily ignored them and drank ten shots in succession. She bit her tongue, using pain to combat the dizziness from the alcohol, then extended her slender hand. "Ten thousand dollars. When do I get paid?"

Jason rose unhurriedly from the booth, swaying slightly as he approached Emily. "What's the rush? You think I'd go back on my word? We'll go to a hotel, and I'll definitely pay you there."

As he spoke, his hand found its way to Emily's waist.

Emily immediately slapped his hand away and stepped back. The alcohol had flushed her cheeks, but her eyes remained cold and alert. "Keep your hands to yourself."

Humiliated in front of everyone, Jason became furious. "You're just a glorified call girl, yet you still act like you're the noble heiress of the Harrison family. You think putting on airs makes you virtuous? You want money, right? Come to the hotel with me now, and if you please me, I might even throw in a tip."

His gaze wandered brazenly over Emily's body. "If you refuse, you get nothing."

Emily fought against the burning pain in her stomach, realizing Jason had planned to stiff her all along.

She discreetly placed her hand over her stomach and said coldly, "I drank the alcohol, and you owe me the money! I've seen plenty of people play these games, but you're the first to welch on a deal. Should I spread the word about your disgusting behavior?"

"The watch on my wrist could buy your life, and you dare accuse me of being cheap!" Jason grew more enraged, turning to pull a wad of cash from his wallet and violently throwing it at Emily's face.

"Wanted money, didn't you? Get down and pick it up."

The stack of bills hit her face with the force of a brick.

Emily stumbled but quickly regained her footing.

She looked around at the faces of those enjoying the spectacle, her crimson lips nearly bleeding from how hard she bit them.

These people had come specifically to mock her.

When the Harrison family was at its peak, these people weren't worthy of being in her presence. Now that she had fallen from grace, they pounced like vultures.

Jason continued his taunting: "What's wrong? Weren't you just demanding money? Now it's all yours if you pick it up. But you have to get on your knees to do it."

Emily's nails dug deeper into her palms. She looked down at the scattered bills on the floor, as if they were stained with blood.

She desperately needed the money, but her upbringing made it impossible for her to bend. Even standing there, her back remained perfectly straight.

His friends laughed out loud.

"Ms. Harrison, let's drop the act. You don't really think the Harrison family is still what it used to be, do you?"

"How the tables have turned! Your family once looked down on the Lees, but now I can use money to humiliate you!"

Emily fought against the overwhelming sense of humiliation.

Looking at her short skirt, she suddenly flashed a bitter smile.

At this point, was there any dignity left to preserve? She had abandoned all that the day she decided to work at this club.

Amid the jeering crowd, Emily finally began to bend down slowly.

But just as she was about to reach for the money on the floor, a cold, detached voice cut through the noise. "So noisy."

Emily instinctively looked up.

A man in a light gray casual outfit stood there. His features were refined and sharp, like God's most favored creation.

His steel-blue eyes were utterly indifferent, as if nothing in this world deserved his attention. An aura of cold detachment surrounded him.

It was Michael Wilson.

His assistant, Jonathan Parker, immediately stepped forward to arrange for the club to be cleared.

The club manager bowed repeatedly, apologizing, "I'm sorry for disturbing Mr. Wilson's peace. We'll remove these unwanted guests right away."

He turned to glare at Jason and his group. "Get out, now!"

Jason was angry but didn't dare speak up—not even the most foolhardy would risk offending Michael. He could only leave in frustration, pausing beside Emily to threaten. "You got lucky today. Next time, you won't be."

Emily kept her gaze lowered, too ashamed to look up. She could endure any treatment or humiliation—she was used to it—but in front of Michael , she couldn't pretend not to care.

The manager gathered all the scattered money from the floor and thrust it into Emily's hands. "What are you waiting for? Go attend to Mr. Wilson immediately."

Emily looked up in surprise, only to meet Michael's indifferent gaze.

He didn't speak, simply turning to head upstairs.

After a moment's hesitation, Emily followed.

Michael rarely visited this club, but whenever he did, she was always assigned to serve him. Perhaps because he found her cleaner than the other staff.

In the second-floor private room, the music was much quieter.

Michael sat lazily in the main seat.

Emily slowly approached to pour him a drink. The pain in her stomach grew increasingly intense, but she endured it silently.

Suddenly, the man's cool voice came from above. "Are you unwell?"