The bar manager, appearing almost out of thin air, approached Mitchel with a flattering grin, dressed sharply in a black suit.
He wasted no time in personally escorting Mitchel to the backstage area to collect his prize.
Mitchel followed without a word, his demeanor calm and composed.
The staff showered him with warm hospitality, but Mitchel seemed unfazed as if this level of attention was nothing out of the ordinary.
He simply waited as the bartenders prepared to bring his prize.
Five minutes later, two bartenders struggled to carry the prize over, their faces flushed with effort.
The prize was a masterpiece made of white jade, not only exorbitantly priced but also surprisingly heavy, requiring two bartenders to Lift it.
âMr.
Chadwick, you can check it now,â the manager said as he turned to Mitchel.
Mitchel examined the statue, his eyes sweeping over the intricate details.
After a moment, he nodded approvingly, another smile gracing his lips-this one just as mesmerizing as before.
Even the manager, who had seen countless wealthy patrons, couldnât help but feel a flutter of admiration.
Mitchelâs smile was truly magnetic, capable of enchanting anyone.
âMr.
Chadwick,â the manager began, doing his best to maintain composure.
âCould you provide us with an address? Weâll have someone deliver this to you tomorrow.
â
Mitchel considered Arianaâs situation and knew she would be at Mercy Hospital for the next few days, with Devin bringing Melon to visit her regularly.
Without hesitation, he provided the hospitalâs address for the delivery.
âs
With the prize secured, the noisy bar no longer held any appeal for him.
Mitchel was ready to leave when, on his way past the second floor, something unexpected caught his attention.
There was someone arguing in the hallway, and Mitchel spotted a familiar figure.
It was Marlowe, someone he hadnât seen in ages.
Marlowe stood in the dimly lit hallway, her white uniform dress now marred by a splash of red wine.
Her head was bowed, hiding her expression.
Beside her, the bar manager was in full damage-control mode, desperately apologizing to an irate customer.
The customer, a rotund, slick-looking man in an expensive suit, exuded an air of entitlement.
Despite his ugly face, he was a wealthy and influential figure-a fact that ensured he always got special treatment.
âMr.
Barker, please, thereâs no need for this,â the manager said, his voice strained with the effort of placating the man.
But the man was having none of it.
âThis bitch has some nerve!â he barked, his face flushed with indignation.
âI didnât even touch her, but she slapped me across the face! All I did was try to get a little closer.
Thatâs all.
And she just snapped!â
The manager opened his mouth to respond, but Marlowe cut him off, lifting her chin and meeting Mr.
Barkerâs gaze.
âYou were harassing me!â she said, her voice steady and unyielding.
âI told you Iâm here to do my job, not to entertain men like you.
When you wouldnât back off, I defended myself.
â
âStop talking!â The managerâs eyes widened in panic, and he swiftly covered Marloweâs mouth with his hand, trying to silence her before she could say more.
But it was too late-her words had already echoed through the hallway, and there was no taking them back.
âYour employee is not only hot-headed but also quite the liar,â Mr.
Barker said, his eyes narrowing as his face contorted in anger.
âEveryone in this town knows my reputation! Go ahead; ask anyoneâdo you think Iâm the kind of man who would behave like this?â
The managerâs face was slick with sweat, his shirt clinging to his back as he felt the tension mounting.
His hand remained covering Marloweâs mouth as he noticed that she was about to retort.
The manager couldnât help but think that Marlowe was being incredibly reckless.
She had dared to act this way without even considering the identity of the customer they were dealing with.
Desperate to defuse the situation, the manager bowed, his smile plastered on as he said, âMr.
Barker, I sincerely apologize for any inconvenience caused.
To make up for the trouble weâve put you through, how about I offer you a forty percent discount on the wine youâve enjoyed tonight?â
But Mr.
Barkerâs eyes narrowed, and his scowl deepened.
The offer only seemed to infuriate him further.
âScrew you! A discount?â Mr.
Barker spat, his voice dripping with contempt.
âI donât need your charity.
What I need is for this woman to pay for the damages she has caused.
Besides, the 1935 vintage wine I brought is worth over ten million dollars! She broke it, so sheâs responsible for compensating me.
â
Marloweâs anger surged, her face flushing with frustration and tears brimming in her eyes.
She shook off the managerâs grip and said, âThatâs a lie! Youâre the one who broke the bottle, not me! Iâm not paying for your mistake!â
Mr.
Barker smirked.
Since his people were all here, he was confident that he would win the argument.
He said, âOh, so now youâre accusing me? You broke the bottle and refused to take responsibility.
Now, you even have the audacity to blame me? Iâve never met someone as shameless as you.
â
Tears of fury spilled down Marloweâs cheeks, but she held her ground.
âYouâre the one who is shameless! You broke it yourself! I have neither the money nor any responsibility to compensate you.
â
But Mr.
Barkerâs gaze remained locked on her, a twisted grin spreading across his face as he looked her up and down.
His tone suddenly lecherous, he said, âThereâs another way you can make it up to me.
Why donât you spend the night with me? Do this, and Iâll forget this whole thing.
â