"All bark and no bite? Jett Westgate, don't flatter yourself."
He spoke, a hint of indulgence in his voice. "Fine. I'm flattering myself."
After speaking, he didn't look at her again. He reached for the fourth bottle, tilted his head back, and started drinking.
GLUG. GLUG. GLUG.
Soon, the fourth bottle was empty.
He put the empty bottle down and reached for the fifth.
Just then, a hand clamped down on his wrist.
"Jett," Kian Miller said, looking at him. "We've had seven bottles in total."
He pointed to the row of empty bottles on the table—Jett Westgate had drunk four, and the three of them had one each, making exactly seven.
"Seven sentences. That's enough. Stop drinking."
Jett Westgate let out a breath.
The alcohol was clearly hitting him. His gaze drifted for a few seconds before refocusing on Annelise Valentine.
Seeing that he was about to speak, Annelise Valentine immediately raised a hand to stop him.
