"Harrison," Camilla suppressed her rising nausea, her pleading eyes fixed on Harrison.
"Please, I really can't drink anymore."
"That's your problem, not mine," Harrison sneered as Camilla nodded frantically.
"Two choices: either drink, or I beat you to death right now."
Camilla froze.
The long-haired man and the others exchanged glances, realizing Harrison was dead set on tormenting the woman tonight.
They chuckled helplessly.
"Harrison, we'll be in the next room.
Come find us when you're done."
Harrison ignored them.
After a silent exchange, the group filed out, leaving only Harrison and Camilla in the dimly lit private room.
"Made your choice yet?"
Harrison snapped impatiently.
"I... I'll drink it," Camilla knew Harrison wasn't joking.
Panicking, she grabbed the freshly opened bottle and started gulping it down.
"Pfft—"
By the end, she couldn't take it anymore. She doubled over, retching uncontrollably, and vomited all over the floor.
The mess splattered onto Harrison's shoes.
Enraged, he grabbed Camilla and slammed her onto the table.
"Damn bitch!"
He snatched the bottle with one hand and gripped her jaw with the other, forcing the liquor down her throat.
"You think you can pull this shit on me, huh?
I'll teach you to puke on me!"
"Ugh—! Ugh—!"
Camilla choked, gasping for air, her struggles useless against his fury-fueled strength.
Just then, the door swung open.
Harrison froze mid-action, his glare slicing toward the entrance.
"Who the hell let you in?
Get the fuck out—"
His words died in his throat.
A stunning woman stepped inside, her curves hugged by a tight, short dress that left little to the imagination.
"Now, now, Mr. Harrison, don't be upset.
She doesn't know what's good for her. Let me keep you company instead."
The voice wasn't as sweet as the other women's—it carried a husky, magnetic edge.
"What's your name?
I don't think I've seen you before."
Interest flickered unmistakably in Harrison's eyes.
"Lucy."
The woman flashed a sultry smile as she sauntered toward him.
"I just started today.
The manager sent me to entertain you, Mr. Harrison."
Harrison gave her a once-over before releasing Camilla's wrist, his lips curling with amusement.
"You're not scared?"
"Scared of what?"
She blinked at him, feigning innocence.
"Anything she can do for you, I can do better.
And anything she *can't* do... well, I can handle that too."
Did she really think this was just some game?
Harrison scoffed inwardly as he sank back into the couch.
"Is that so?
Well then, I look forward to seeing what you've got."
"Don't worry, Mr. Harrison, we'll make sure you're thoroughly satisfied," Lucy took a few steps forward and settled beside Harrison, her ample curves pressing against his arm.
Just as she was about to speak, her brow furrowed as she glanced at Camilla, who was retching uncontrollably nearby.
Disdain twisted her features.
"Harrison, she's ruining the mood.
Why don't we make her scram?"
The lecherous fire in Harrison's veins flared up.
He yanked his tie loose and shot Camilla a disgusted glare.
"What are you waiting for? Get lost!"
"...Yes, sir."
Camilla cast one last uneasy glance at the woman who called herself Lucy but didn't dare say another word, hurrying out in a panic.
The door clicked shut behind her.
"Now then," Lucy shifted in one fluid motion, straddling Harrison's lap, her arms looping around his neck.
"Let me show you exactly how to have a good time, Harrison."
"Alright,"
Harrison's hand lingered on the woman's smooth, pale thigh, his eyes already clouded with lust.
"How do you want to play?"
"I was thinking..." Lucy's crimson lips drew closer to Harrison.
*She's really taking the initiative.*
Harrison leaned back, eagerly awaiting her kiss.
But just then, a sharp pain shot through the back of his neck.
That sensation—he knew it all too well.
"You—what the hell are you—"
His eyes widened in shock, but before he could even cry out, his body went numb, his voice trapped in his throat.
"Correction—I'm not Lucy.
Call me *Daddy*."
The woman's voice was no longer sultry and low but had transformed into a clear, masculine tone.
"Die, you beast."
It was Helena.
Harrison's pupils contracted violently, his breath hitched, and his body went limp.
In just two minutes, his breathing grew faint—until it stopped altogether.
Helena pulled on a pair of gloves, retrieved a syringe and a vial of drugs from the depths of his ample cleavage, and injected the contents into Harrison's body.
Then, he carefully pressed Harrison's fingerprints onto the syringe.
Only after completing his meticulous work did a satisfied smirk curl his lips.
"Mission accomplished.
Time to collect my reward."
Helena snapped a few photos with a miniature camera, then deliberately mussed up his clothes before stepping out of the private room.
Covering his face with his hands, he sobbed dramatically.
"Harrison said he wanted to be alone and didn't want anyone disturbing him."
The bodyguards at the door, already aware of Harrison's earlier outburst, had no desire to provoke further anger.
They nodded hastily in agreement.
By the time the long-haired man and the others realized too much time had passed and went to check on Harrison, it was already too late.
Harrison was dead.
Used syringes and empty vials lay scattered around him.
For a moment, everyone stood frozen in shock.
When Mr. Harrison received the news, he was in the middle of a meeting.
"What did you say?"
Mr. Harrison shot up from his seat, swaying unsteadily as if his legs might give out beneath him.
"President Harrison!"
His assistant reacted swiftly, steadying Mr. Harrison as he staggered.
"Sir, what's wrong? Are you alright?"
"I'm fine, just take me there now," Mr. Harrison muttered through gritted teeth, leaning heavily on his assistant as they hurried out.
His face had turned ashen, his usual composure completely shattered.
Not once did he glance at the assembled executives of Harrison Corporation below the podium.
The entire management team sat frozen in shock.
This was their unshakable leader, the man who remained calm even when Mount collapsed before him.
Yet today, they witnessed him in this utterly distraught state.
"What on earth happened?"
"Harrison is dead! Check the news now!!" "What news? Let me see—"
Their eyes fell on the sensational headlines, and all color drained from their faces. [EXCLUSIVE: Harrison, heir to one of the three great families, dies suddenly in luxury club!!
[SHOCKING—Scion of wealthy dynasty perishes in den of vice?!
Explosive News: Death of Harrison Family Heir Exposes Feuds Among Billionaire Dynastie ...
"Harrison is dead."
Nolan scanned the report Karl handed him, a flicker of surprise crossing his face.
"Sooner than I expected," he remarked, arching an eyebrow.
"How did it happen?"
"Rumor has it the circumstances were... unsavory.
The Harrison family has suppressed the details—no crime scene photos have leaked.
But..." Karl slid an envelope across the desk.
"Someone sent this ahead of time."
Nolan opened the envelope and pulled out the photographs.
Harrison slumped disheveled against a sofa, his clothes in disarray.
Used syringes and empty vials littered the table beside him, while shattered wine glasses and spilled red wine stained the floor around his feet.
The scene reeked of reckless decadence and self-destruction.
Nolan's gaze darkened, his expression hardening.
"So, Sinclair never intended to give the Harrison family or the Algrea fighting chance from the very beginning."