Chapter 1808

The more one knew their enemy, the higher their chances of victory.

Just like Alyssa predicted Jameson's rash move against David, she also knew Betty would be

brimming with pride right now.

While the rest of the Becketts reeled from Lauren's ordeal, Betty reveled in worldly pleasures. She

barhopped and indulged in excessive drinking.

Fueled by alcohol, she even gossiped about her autistic sister with her unsavory friends. She

exploited her family's pain for entertainment, releasing years of pent-up hatred.

Since Sophia's death, Betty had kept a low profile. She didn't dare to make any rash moves either.

However, after joining forces with Zoe, a realization dawned on her—even without Sophia, she

could still hold her own against those people. She could manipulate them as she pleased.

That night, chaos reigned in the private room. Betty was engaged in frenzied dancing with a

charming male model, egged on by the surrounding crowd. Intoxicated by alcohol, she shamelessly

struck various embarrassing poses with the man she barely knew.

In the chaos, the male model dragged her into the washroom within the private room. A violent kiss

escalated as he ripped at her clothes.

Initially resistant, she used her arms to shield her chest—her half-cup bra could be seen. Then, her

eyes widened in shock.

The model, with practiced ease, used his tongue to slip a pill into her mouth. Before she could react,

she swallowed it.

"What... What did you just give me?" Betty shoved him away, her breath coming in heavy pants.

"Something to make you feel good.”

The man smiled at her with an unfocused gaze. He licked her earlobe and murmured, “It's not your

first time trying this anyway, isn't it?"

Soon, Betty was enveloped in waves of desire. Her thoughts became hazy, but her body soared on

cloud nine.

An unknown amount of time passed. Everyone else had left the private room. The man pulled up his

pants and pushed open the washroom door.

Betty, a woman of noble status, slumped over the filthy toilet bowl. Her clothes were disheveled,

and a single strand of drool escaped her slack jaw. But the worst part was her smile. Wide and

vacant, it stretched across her face like a simpleton’s glee.

A man in a crisp, clean suit pushed open the private room door. Disgust contorted his face, yet his

posture remained controlled as he settled onto the couch, an air of elegance clinging to him.

The male model approached Sean respectfully. "Mr. Lynch, the job's done.”

"Thanks for your hard work. Sorry that you had to touch such a filthy thing.” Sean looked up and

smiled slightly.

"Not at all... It was a simple task.”

"I've received the photographs and video clip.”

Sean slowly pushed a bank card toward him. "Here's the one million dollars we agreed upon, plus

an additional 500,000. I wish you a speedy recovery.”

The man hesitated, then pocketed the card with a chuckle. "It would be a miracle if I could be cured

of my illness. Don't worry. I will be leaving Solana City on an early flight tomorrow. I won't be

coming back."