Chapter 219

The six of them had dinner together. After the meal, Enrique stayed to watch the festive show, while Bowen, having had quite a bit to drink that evening, went upstairs to rest.

Alvin was playing cards with Ethan and Samson. When it comes to intelligence, Alvin certainly inherited the genes of the Turner family-the Dillard brothers were no match for him and ended up losing an entire month’s salary.

However, those two were as stubborn as mules and refused to admit they couldn’t even beat Alvin, who rarely played cards. Aubree didn’t know how to play, so she just watched from the sidelines, thoroughly amused by the scene.

“Aubree,” Enrique said, “Bowen had a little too much to drink tonight. Could you deliver him a hangover remedy? It’s in the

kitchen.”

“Okay,” Aubree replied. Since she was the only one free at the moment, she went to the kitchen, carefully grabbed the drink, and made her way upstairs.

Aubree held only a fleeting affection for him. Growing up in an orphanage, Aubree met the investor, who provided her with vital emotional support

seemed lively and friendly, but in reality, she kept her emotions closely guarded. Earning her complete trust and love

stood on the balcony, gazing up at the night sky with a thoughtful

struggled to understand Enrique’s intentions. While it was evident that he had developed a fondness for Aubree these past few days, there was always a subtle

caught herself and asked, “Bowen, are you asleep? Mr. Turner asked me to bring you some hangover remedy.” She recalled how frightening Bowen had looked that morning, and she couldn’t

door and stepped inside. The room was dim, leading her to believe he had already gone to bed or was at least lying down. To her surprise, Bowen stood by

only accentuated Bowen’s spectral appearance as he stood by the window, pale and completely lifeless. He turned sideways to face her, his gaze lowered, and silently observed her. The room was so quiet

stepped a little closer, carefully holding the drink she had let cool to just the right temperature before

his gaze down at her, his deep, unreadable eyes exuding a dangerously enticing, nearly predatory aura. “I’m fine,” Bowen murmured, his voice low and tinged with alcohol,

the table. In the end, she spoke softly, “I’ll leave the drink here for you. Don’t forget to drink it and get some rest, alright.” She lingered for

a low, captivating voice, “Come here.” He rarely used her full name. Lowering his gaze, his eyes were fixed entirely on Aubree, creating a sense of intention, as if he were trying

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