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.

knew that in the current situation, it wasn't merely about securing fifty percent. Any future collaborations would be nothing short of a mercy bestowed by Alexander. Galen held onto the hope that his company could at least maintain its regular

was known for his drinking capacity, he had already consumed a considerable amount earlier. Now, he could only manage four more bottles at most; any more would be overwhelming. No one was aware of how long Ronan had been secluded in the restroom, but she didn't reappear until

word, Ronan dove

of these so-called assistants were not genuine assistants. They were more akin to hired drinking companions, employed to shield their bosses from

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their means of earning a living. When faced with clients who deliberately attempted to intoxicate them,

down her chin and seeping into her shirt collar, drenching the front of

shifting

at the collar. He lounged lazily on the couch, a cigarette between his fingers, his eyes exuding an air of detachment and indifference bordering on rudeness. It was as if everything around him was a

appeared to be a mere bystander, as if none of this

the drinking, seemingly relying solely on instinct, her eyes

six bottles

sips, and seemed to require the restroom