Love Unspoken

Quinn dared not to harbor any expectations. Each time she did, it only resulted in a bottomless pit of disappointment. He hadn't asked her to partake in the drinking, but neither had he invited Getty. She sat in silence, her gaze lowered to the tips of her shoes, the passing time never seeming so lethargic.

All eyes were fixated on Ronan, her drinking prowess was undeniable. However, after consuming about five or six bottles, her grip on sobriety began to wane.

She excused herself, intending to use the restroom. Yet, she barely managed to stagger five meters before succumbing to nausea and vomiting into a nearby trash can.

Upon witnessing this, Stellan's countenance darkened instantly.

Quinn also caught sight of Ronan's pitiful state, a fleeting expression of sympathy crossing her features.

Galen's gaze subtly flitted about, landing on Quinn and then Alexander. His eyes darted between the two, his expression a mix of intrigue and subtlety.

With Ronan absent, Stellan reached for a bottle, declaring, "Since Ronan's in the restroom, I'll continue the drinking." It would be a waste to abandon the endeavor halfway. If he could manage another two or three bottles, he could leave the rest to Ronan, thus sealing the deal.

However, he was oblivious to the malicious glint in Alexander's eyes. He misunderstood Alexander, naively considering him to be as ordinary as any other businessman.

merely about securing fifty percent. Any future collaborations would be nothing short

only manage four more bottles at most; any more would be overwhelming. No one was aware of how long Ronan had been secluded

dove back

more akin to hired drinking companions, employed to shield their bosses

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possessed high tolerances, and this was their means of earning a living. When faced with clients who deliberately

like water, some of it trickling down her chin and seeping into her

her lips, shifting her gaze

of his shirt were undone at the collar. He lounged lazily on the couch, a cigarette between his fingers, his eyes exuding an air of detachment

to be a mere bystander, as if none of

drinking, seemingly relying solely on instinct, her eyes

still, five or six bottles

in minuscule sips, and seemed