CHAPTER 102: DRAKE AND SARAH AT IT AGAIN

The two women nibbled on desserts while sipping whiskey, occasionally interrupted by men sidling up with drinks in hand.

This time, Sarah didn’t brush them off with her usual disdain.

Instead, she flashed a charming smile and clinked glasses with those well-heeled playboys.

After all, everyone here was someone—either a wealthy heir from paris or a nouveau riche.

Otherwise, they wouldn’t be splurging tens of thousands per head in a place like this.

From his shadowed corner, Lucas lounged lazily, his sharp gaze fixed on Beauty and Sarah like an indifferent deity observing mortals.

His expression was icy, utterly unreadable. Beside him, Drake grew visibly restless, his dark eyes darting anxiously.

He shot Lucas a sidelong glance and muttered, "If you don’t step in soon, your precious Beauty might just get whisked away by one of those guys."

"She wouldn’t dare."

Lucas scoffed, the sound dripping with disdain.

He arched a brow and turned his cold stare on Drake.

"Seems like it’s your Sarah who’s in trouble.

Those two playboys have a reputation for leaving broken hearts—and worse—in their wake.

Every halfway decent woman in this bar has fallen victim to them.

Can’t you see they’ve set their sights on her?"

"Over my dead body!"

Drake’s voice was a low growl, his knuckles whitening around his glass.

"If either of them lays a finger on Sarah, I’ll break them so badly they’ll never function again."

No sooner had the words left his mouth than the situation escalated.

One of the men slid a brazen hand around Sarah’s waist while the other pressed a drink to her lips, his smirk oozing arrogance.

Across the table, Beauty paled, her fingers tightening around her glass in helpless distress.

Sarah, however, remained eerily composed.

A frosty aura radiated from her, her brows knitting slightly—yet she made no move to push the man away.

From Drake’s perspective, the man’s face was practically pressed against Sarah’s, his large hand creeping upward from her waist.

It was mere inches away from slipping under her clothes from behind.

"Damn it!

How dare you lay a finger on my woman!"

Drake immediately strode forward, a cocktail glass in one hand, while his free hand twisted the man’s arm with a sharp jerk.

The man let out a pained yelp, his glass shattering on the floor.

"Well, well, if it isn’t Liam!

Fancy seeing you here.

What’s this?

Trying to mess with someone under Lucas’s wing today?"

As he spoke, Drake deliberately flicked his gaze toward Lucas, who sat motionless, swirling his glass with an icy calm, his eyes sharp as daggers.

The man visibly shuddered.

Forcing a nervous grin, he turned to Drake.

"Ah, Mr. Drake and President Lucas are here too!

My apologies for not noticing earlier.

I should’ve toasted you both first..."

His bravado instantly deflated, his legs trembling under Drake’s frosty glare.

Everyone knew Drake was unpredictable—cross Lucas, and at least you’d know how you died.

But provoke Drake?

You wouldn’t even see it coming.

Beauty stood up, watching the scene with amused interest, her lips curling in silent approval.

This hero moment couldn’t have been more perfectly timed.

Under the dim red glow of the bar lights, Drake’s eyes looked even darker, his sharp gaze cutting through the air like a blade, his expression frozen in cold fury. It sent chills down one’s spine.

Yet Sarah showed no appreciation whatsoever.

With a fake smile plastered on her face, she turned to Drake and said, "Since I’m under Lucas’s care, and even he hasn’t bothered to meddle in my affairs, what gives you the right, Drake?"

What right?

What right did he have to interfere in her business?

Drake’s face paled at her words.

His fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white, veins bulging at his temples.

His eyes burned with a dangerous glint, tinged with red.

Beauty had never seen Drake this furious before. He looked like a lion with its mane bristling—far from the usual easygoing, carefree playboy who seemed indifferent to everything.

Only Sarah could provoke this normally suave and cunning playboy to the point of seeing red, as if he were ready to tear someone apart.

"Liam," Sarah suddenly spoke up, her voice cool, "you mentioned wanting to talk privately earlier.

I’ve had a bit too much to drink and my head is spinning.

Why don’t we step outside to the hotel café for a moment?"

"Sarah, have you lost your damn mind?"

Drake snapped, his voice dripping with venom.

"If you’re that desperate for company, you could’ve just told me.

I can fulfill all your needs—or have you forgotten how satisfied you used to be with me?"

The words struck Sarah like a physical blow.

Her arms trembled uncontrollably, and her lips pressed into a tight, bloodless line, as if she were biting down hard enough to draw blood.

Beauty frowned, realizing that this time, Sarah was truly wounded.

What woman could endure such humiliation from the man she loved, especially in front of so many people?

Even the usually poised and aloof Sarah couldn’t maintain her composure now.

Her clear, bright eyes locked onto Drake’s jaw, her chin lifted defiantly as she stared at him with an icy, unyielding gaze.

"You bastard, Drake!"

The words practically hissed through clenched teeth, each syllable dripping with venom.

Without missing a beat, she lifted her foot and delivered a sharp kick to his knee before wrenching herself free from his grasp and storming off.

Drake sucked in a breath, gingerly rubbing his kneecap as his sharp brows furrowed in disbelief.

For a moment, he just stood there, veins bulging in his arms from sheer frustration.

Every pair of eyes in the vicinity locked onto him.

No one could have imagined that the illustrious Drake would ever be kicked—by a woman, no less.

This was headline-worthy gossip.

But only he knew the truth: in this world, there was only one person who could treat him with such reckless audacity—Sarah.

And he couldn’t retaliate. Couldn’t even get angry.

After all, he was the one who had wronged her first.

Once a man found himself indebted to a woman, he was doomed to be at her mercy for life.

He was certain he’d never win against Sarah.

And he’d never dare raise his voice at her, either.

What a cursed fate.

"Drake... a-are you... alright?"

The trembling voice belonged to Liam, who took one look at Drake’s murderous expression and immediately broke into a cold sweat, dabbing at his forehead with a handkerchief.

"Get lost!"

Drake snarled.

"If I ever see you here again, don’t expect any mercy!"

Drake let out a low, menacing growl that sent Liam scrambling out the door in a panic.

The sight was utterly ridiculous.

Unfortunately, Beauty didn’t get to witness the spectacle—she had already dashed out after Sarah.

Seated nearby, Lucas finally rose leisurely, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a faint smirk, his cold eyes gleaming with amusement.

He reached out and gave Drake’s shoulder a mocking pat, exhaling a derisive chuckle through his nose.

"Good luck, buddy," he said coolly.

"Get lost!"

Drake shoved Lucas’s hand away with visible irritation, his round eyes blazing, his brow twitching violently.

Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t dare treat Lucas like this—he’d have been flat on his back in seconds.

But sensing his foul mood, Lucas let it slide.

With an amused smirk, he simply settled back into his chair and resumed drinking.