CHAPTER 81: CHAPTER 81: HE’S COMPLETELY HELPLESS AGAINST HER

Serena Sinclair didn’t expect that the performance she missed in Aethelgard would be made up for in Syburg.

After a series of dazzling performances on the stage in the first-floor hall, eye-catching acts appeared one after another.

Pole dancing.

Swimsuit show.

...

The cheers from downstairs surged like waves, one after another.

She peeked down and saw that more and more guests were arriving.

Surprisingly, those acts were highly entertaining and not at all vulgar.

The fashion show with stunningly fit bodies, handsome men and beautiful women.

At a glance, everyone had at least a six-pack.

To the rhythmical music, the men and women on stage cast tender glances at the audience, seeming not to be working but rather enjoying the lights and applause.

Turning back, Serena saw that Iris Nash and the two male escorts had disappeared.

She couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief.

"You go busy yourself,"

Serena said to the handsome guy beside her, "I’ll just watch the show here myself."

"Sister..."

The handsome young guy pleaded sadly, "We have rules here; we can serve one guest well in one night. If you don’t want me to give you a massage, I can drink with you, and I will leave exactly at midnight without staying a second longer, okay?"

Serena hesitated.

The young man’s voice became more pitiful, "I came here to work and study part-time, and tonight is my last night. If the manager finds out, I won’t get paid this month."

Work-study?

From a men’s university?

Serena was startled, couldn’t help but think of her own hardships during her work-study days.

She glanced at her phone; it was only 10 o’clock.

Since she was just going back to the hotel to sleep, Serena nodded readily, "Alright."

The young man flashed a bright smile, "Sister, you’re really kind!"

Serena looked up, taking pictures of the show downstairs with her phone, then sending them to her best friends in WeChat.

The conversation between them was lively and energetic.

The young man changed the drink nonchalantly.

The seniors said, with young and pretty female guests who don’t touch or flirt,

They’re either career-oriented women who don’t have time for romance,

Or full-time housewives whose marital life might be unsatisfactory.

Either way, they’re high-quality customers.

If you can latch onto them, it’s a long-term meal ticket.

Serena, sharp in conversation, didn’t mention work or family, yet the noble air she exuded was unmistakable.

Moreover, the traces of a wedding ring long worn on her finger were still visible.

If he could seize this opportunity, he wouldn’t have to work hard for a long time.

Thinking more excitedly, the young man encouraged many glasses of wine.

The lightly flavored fruit wine tasted sweet and sour.

The more she drank, the more heady it became.

After a few drinks, Serena warily picked up the bottle to check its alcohol content.

3.8 degrees.

Feeling relieved, Serena drank while watching the performance, frequently bending down to boast to Una Hutton.

"Sister..."

"Sister..."

The repeated calls of "Sister" in her ear were a bit noisy compared to the deep and pleasant "Sister" in her mind.

It wasn’t as deep or nice as that voice.

Serena, feeling dizzy, gestured, "...Don’t bother!"

"Sister, there are rooms upstairs, shall I help you rest?"

The young man took the almost-dropping wine glass from Serena’s hand.

...

When Wyatt Hawthorne entered, the show was ongoing on stage.

Over a dozen young men in white shirts and black trousers posed on stage, scanning female guests below with self-assumed sincere, enticing gazes.

A group of women, who seemingly hadn’t seen much of the world, let out wild shrieks.

Heavy rain fell from above, landing precisely on those men on stage.

In an instant, the soaked handsome men began a wet body show.

T-shirts clinging, half off.

The ambiguity layering up.

Finally, as the shirts fell to the floor, the men and women present let out screams at a hundred thousand decibels, almost tearing the roof off.

Thinking that this was the show Serena wanted to watch, Wyatt’s face turned even grimmer.

But thankfully, she wasn’t in the crowd below the stage.

Recollecting the branch manager’s explicit instructions to treat the guests well, Wyatt headed upstairs toward the private booths.

Each door he pushed open startled a pair of illicit lovers.

Wyatt’s face grew darker.

On pushing the last door, he saw a male escort bending down, seemingly about to kiss someone.

The person on the single sofa had their face obscured.

But the wrist lazily draped over the armrest wore the treasure bracelet from The Mulberry Garden Restaurant.

Bam!

Wyatt pushed the door in.

The young man straightened up, "You..."

"Get out!"

The intruding man was astonishingly handsome, his aura intimidating.

For a moment, it was unclear if he was here to catch unfaithfulness or if he was a new male escort for the day.

The young man hesitated briefly, while Wyatt loosened his tie as though preparing to fight.

Caught in the act, the scheme had fallen apart.

If someone was there to take the blame, it couldn’t be better.

The young man decisively bolted out.

Wyatt advanced, finding Serena Sinclair already drunk and unconscious.

Looking again at the table with two empty bottles of wine.

Wyatt couldn’t help but clench his teeth.

"Serena?...Serena!"

Pinching her cheeks.

Shaking her head.

Serena woke up.

Her vision blurred, but she discerned that hint of white.

Serena beamed, "Wyatt..."

Wyatt: ...

Wyatt discovered he had no way to handle her.

Clearly, he had been angry for a day and a night.

Clearly aware that she was drunk now.

Yet all his anger evaporated when faced with her bright smile and the enchanting "Wyatt".

With a poof, it all vanished completely.

"Was the performance good?"

"Yes, it was..."

"Have you watched enough?"

"Enough..."

The incomplete "Enough" wasn’t even fully spoken.

A fierce kiss landed.

Serena’s futile struggle quickly surrendered.

The rich sweet-sour scent.

A fruity taste in the kiss.

Elevating warmth.

But soon the mist from the hall intruded, mingling.

Turning back, the performance downstairs reached its climax, screams and cheers surged like into one’s bloodstream.

Only immense self-control could restrain himself from stopping.

Wyatt lifted Serena out of the private booth.

"Do you know who I am?"

In the elevator ascending, Wyatt asked her, swaddled in her drunken slumber.

Serena opened her sultry drunk eyes, shaking her head, "You, you didn’t tell me..."

"Sister..."

Wyatt lowered his head, biting her earlobe, "Now, do you know?"

Serena seemed to recall, "Wyatt..."

The room door chimed open.

A cool lemon fragrance assailed her senses.

The room key inserted.

Bam!

The room, along with the hallway, plunged into darkness.

Silence enveloped.

So silent, it felt like the world was on the brink of destruction.

Cool air approached, and Serena instinctively nestled closer to the warmth.

Soft and fragrant in his embrace.

Wyatt’s blood momentarily froze.

A trembling voice sounded lowly, "Wyatt..."

So be it!

Tell whoever you want to love whoever!

Turning, pressing Serena against the door, Wyatt lowered his head to kiss her.

Familiar breath.

Familiar sensation.

Every bit of it, as familiar as if rehearsed beforehand.

Such thoughts had barely surfaced when Serena had forgotten all about it.

The feverish sensation surged once more, the grand dream returned.

Serena tilted her head.

Aligned.

The intoxicating, frenzied night thus unfolded.