"I've done it, don't worry.""That's good. Let's go."
Celia froze. Did they just say they drugged Nathaniel Fu?
What kind of drug?
She hadn't intended to get involved in Nathaniel's affairs. Yet now, hearing someone had slipped something into his drink, her chest tightened with unease.
She instinctively reached for her phone, wanting to call him—only to realize she had left it behind.
What should I do?
Celia bit her lip. She couldn't ignore this. Gathering her courage, she turned and hurried back into the underground bar.
The dim lounge was hushed, smoke curling in the air. Nathaniel sat slouched in a shadowy booth, his head leaning against the chair, eyes closed as though he were asleep.
"Mr. Fu…" Celia approached carefully.
No response.
A wave of dread ran through her. She reached out her slender hand, intending to check his pulse.
But before her fingers touched him, his large, calloused hand shot out, seizing her delicate wrist. With a swift tug, he pulled her off balance—straight onto his lap.
"Fu—" Her protest was cut off as his lips crashed against hers.
Her vision went black from the sudden force of the kiss. Shock flooded her. She struggled against him, breathless. "Mr. Fu, stop! Open your eyes and see who I am!"
But his skin was burning hot, his breath heavy and feverish. Celia realized instantly—the drug. He must have already drunk the tainted wine.
"Damn it…" she whispered, panic rising.
Yet while she hesitated, Nathaniel deepened the kiss, his rough hunger stealing her breath. His lips pressed, nipped, devoured, tasting of alcohol and tobacco—the sharp, intoxicating scent of a man who was losing control.
"No, let me go!" She pushed at his chest, hammered at his shoulders, but his body was immovable—solid, unyielding like a wall.
Her chest rose and fell rapidly. This wasn't how she wanted things to happen. Not like this. Not when he wasn't even fully conscious.
"Fu Nancheng!" she cried, voice shaking. "Wake up! Are you pretending? Do you even know who I am?"
For a heartbeat, there was silence. Then, slowly, his eyes opened.
Her breath caught.
He wasn't lost in a haze—he was fully aware.
And knowing exactly who she was, Nathaniel pulled her harder into his arms, his gaze burning, his control unraveling.
"You—shameless!" she gasped, twisting against him.
His large hands slid to her waist, lifting her lightly until she straddled him. His bloodshot eyes fixed on her delicate face, and his lips curved in a dangerous smile.
"How am I shameless? I drank something foul and felt miserable sitting here alone. And then you, Celia… you walked right in and offered yourself up to me."
"I—I only came because I heard someone drugged you," she stammered. "I wanted to check if you were all right."
"What's there to check?" His tone was mocking, sharp. "If you really cared, you should have called my fiancée. Or better yet, you could've called any other woman. They'd all have been more than willing."
His words hit her like a slap.
Nathaniel finally voiced the grievance he had buried—the bitterness from that night abroad.
Seeing her stunned silence, his hand rose, slender fingers gripping her chin. He forced her to meet his narrowed gaze.
"Why won't you speak? Tell me, Celia—what did you mean by sending Yara Lu to me that night?"