The harsh outdoor lights illuminated Amilia’s battered face, revealing a disturbing scene of injuries: a swollen cheek, raw scratches on her neck, dark bruises on her arms, and disheveled hair framing her face like a tragic halo. It seemed she had just emerged from a fierce battle.
Indeed, Amilia had. She had just endured a fierce confrontation with her so-called friend, Felice. Felice asserted having witnessed Mitchel hand Amilia a business card, but Amilia vehemently denied it.
Unconvinced, Felice took action, delivering two sharp slaps to Amilia, demanding the card.
Nonetheless, Amilia stood firm, clutching the card like a vital lifeline. It represented her sole chance to rise into the upper strata of society.
Despite their supposed friendship, Felice had consistently treated Amilia with contempt, a constant reminder of their disparate backgrounds.
With her connections and resources, Felice could secure an invitation to the exclusive Kingbel Club, a world Amilia yearned to join.
Amilia acted as an intermediary, obtaining eligible men’s contact details for Felice. Only when Felice deemed the prospects unsuitable did they reach Amilia.
Why would Amilia comply to Felice’s orders when presented with the opportunity to ascend? Presently, she possessed a membership for the esteemed Kingbel Club. Armed with this credential, she could effortlessly mingle with the privileged henceforth. Felice, lacking such a membership, could no longer be considered her equal.
In the aftermath of their confrontation, Amilia promptly notified the clubhouse management of Felice’s deceitful entry.
Subsequently, security swiftly apprehended Felice, capturing her image before escorting her out
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unceremoniously. The ruling was definitive.
Felice would be permanently banned from the Kingbel Club and all its associated venues.
A smug sense of gratification enveloped Amilia as she recalled Felice’s contorted expression, the echoes of her curses lingering in her mind.
“Just observe this. All of this is a result of you. I just had a terrible fallout with my closest friend.” Amilia buried her face in her hands, assuming the role of the innocent victim.
Mitchel disregarded Amilia, steadfastly advancing without a single glance backward.
Amilia’s eyes lingered on Mitchel’s broad silhouette, her heart pounding in her chest like a distant war drum. This encounter marked her first conversation with such a striking man, and the peculiar intimacy of their evening left her resolute to seize this moment at any cost.
“Hold on…” Amilia called out, her voice flirtatious, hurrying after Mitchel. Her plan to feign intoxication and link arms with him was deflected by his impatient evasion.
“Don’t pursue me,” Mitchel responded, his face a stoic mask. Yet beneath, his smoldering irritation simmered.
Amilia’s eyes blazed crimson, her body trembling, as she murmured, “Can you take me along wherever you’re headed…”
Mitchel ignored her, his stern expression betraying irritation at her plea. “Are you unable to comprehend simple speech?” he retorted coldly.
Amilia stood paralyzed, her face a tangle of confusion and hurt, with tears pooling in her eyes, on the brink of cascading down her cheeks.
In the dimly Lit room just moments ago, Amilia assumed Mitchel had enveloped her in his embrace.
Knowing the club’s routine well, Amilia had positioned herself strategically near Mitchel, never anticipating being swept into an embrace. With the lights flickering on suddenly, she was abruptly yanked back, coming face-to-face with Mitchel. Instinctively, she had mistaken the person who held her for none other than Mitchel himself.
Amilia struggled to comprehend the sudden shift in Mitchel’s attitude toward her. How could things change so drastically in such a short time?
As Mitchel walked away with heavy steps, Amilia remained rooted to her spot, afraid of provoking his displeasure and unable to follow him.