She had drunk a lot of alcohol; her stomach burned like fire, and her head was very dizzy.

Amelia Clarke lay on the washstand in the hotel bathroom, vomiting for a long time, until she splashed her face with a few handfuls of cold water and felt a bit better.

She looked up at herself in the mirror, her forehead smooth and full, her features picturesque, with her cute nose and cherry lips. Not even the red blood vessels in her eyes could hide the animation and purity rippling through them.

She tried to force a smile at the corners of her mouth but gave up after a moment, unable to muster even that.

She turned on the faucet to clean the washstand of its filth, then walked out of the bathroom.

Just as she left the doorway.

"Wipe your face." A dark blue handkerchief was extended in front of her.

Amelia Clarke was startled, looking up.

And then, she froze again.

The man standing before her was expressionless and very serious, tall and straight in stature, with deep and calm eyes that hid a depth that emanated an imperceptible authoritative aura, coercing compliance instinctively.

At that moment, Amelia Clarke felt herself subdued under that influence, her heartstrings tensioned curiously, much like how she'd felt facing her stern and old-fashioned class teacher in primary school.

She recognized this man; she had just seen him at the dinner table not long ago, center of everyone's flattery, the Bowe CEO Owen Moreland.

Seeing her standing motionless, Owen Moreland reminded, "Do I need to wipe it for you?"

Such a statement, coming from a wealthy man to a beautiful young woman, could easily be construed as provocation, but when uttered by Owen Moreland, it turned into an entirely serious matter.

Amelia Clarke hurriedly took the handkerchief, saying thanks as a matter of course: "Thank you, Mr. Moreland."

Owen Moreland nodded slightly towards her, then turned and left, his steps steady and composed, embodying the mature charm specific to men of his age.

Amelia Clarke dallied outside for a long while before returning to the private room. The meal was nearly at its end, and everyone was preparing to move to another venue to continue the revelry.

The attendees of this banquet were all notable businesspeople and executives. The few young and beautiful girls left, just like Amelia Clarke, were there to liven up the atmosphere.

"Amelia, why did you take so long to come back?" Isaac Taylor glanced at a middle-aged, fat man with a shiny baldness and a big belly not far away. "Mr. Jones is drunk; hurry up and pour him some tea."

The private room was noisy, Isaac Taylor's voice was very low, audible only to Amelia Clarke.

Amelia Clarke pursed her lips, not moving.

Previously, Mr. Jones had been handsy, and to avoid his advances, she had resorted to drinking to divert his attention, resulting in the searing pain in her stomach now.

"Sorry, uncle, I'm not feeling well, I'd like to go back and rest."

Amelia Clarke lowered her lashes, speaking evenly and indifferently.

Isaac Taylor's expression darkened slightly as he moved closer, whispering in her ear: "Amelia, uncle knows you're proud, but this is a critical moment. If you can endure and treat Mr. Jones well, helping uncle to secure the project, you'll have the money for your mother's hospital expenses and your brother's tuition fees."

Amelia Clarke paled.

Her hands, clasped in front of her, twisted and contorted involuntarily, her beautiful fingers distorting.

"Don't blame your uncle, I had no choice," Isaac Taylor's voice still echoed in her ear.

"I'm sorry, uncle, but you didn't say I was here to accompany someone in drinking before coming. I was completely unprepared."

The implications were clear, she did not want to accompany Mr. Jones.

Isaac Taylor looked at her with an inscrutable gaze, his thoughts opaque. Meanwhile, Mr. Jones, catching sight of Amelia Clarke's return in the corner of his eye, immediately let go of the person he was talking to and reached out to wrap his arm around her slender waist, "Why did it take the pretty girl so long to come back? Right, you still haven't told me your name."

Amelia Clarke's entire body stiffened, all her senses focused on that hand, until it began to act more and more inappropriately, and she suddenly stood up.

The abrupt movement startled Mr. Jones, who scowled, "What are you doing!"

Amelia Clarke bit her lip.

If she had known from the start that Isaac Taylor was taking her out for this, she would have refused to come no matter what.

Seeing her standing stiff as a pole, Isaac Taylor yanked her abruptly, scolding, "What's this? Clumsy and slow, hurry up and apologize to Mr. Jones!" He then turned to Mr. Jones, "Don't be mad, Mr. Jones, the young lady hasn't graduated from college yet, she's not seen much of the world and isn't quite used to this. Don't take it to heart."

"Hasn't graduated?" Mr. Jones narrowed his eyes, looking at Amelia Clarke as if she were a dish on a platter.

Amelia Clarke kept her head down.

Seeing Mr. Jones's lecherous look, Isaac Taylor laughed, saying, "Yes, she's just in her sophomore year, always at the top of her class. Mr. Jones, if you find her agreeable, perhaps you could teach her some manners. It would surely help her find a job after she graduates."