Quentin wore a grim expression, grinding his molars so hard that they were in danger of shattering. “What the fuck is Naomi doing hiring hosts?” he exclaimed.

Stephen could only watch as Tessa ran one hand over a host’s abdomen, feeling up the muscles there while balancing her cocktail glass in her other hand. The sour taste of the lemon mixed with the strong spirits in the tequila he just drank permeated Stephen’s taste buds. Even the air around him had taken on a tinge of sourness that he could nearly physically taste.

Stephen refused to continue playing the role of the observer. He shot up to his feet, giving Quentin, who was seated next to him, a scare.

“Stephen, what are you doing?” Quentin asked.

“I’m going to send her home.”

Quentin immediately grabbed him. “Don’t be too hasty. You can’t show yourself here. What if James’ lackeys are in this bar? All that trouble you went through to break up with Tessa would all be for naught!”

Of course, Stephen knew that Quentin’s words made sense.

Surrounded by the hosts who were tripping over themselves for her attention, Tessa’s radiant smile stretched from ear to ear across her face. Next to her, Naomi continued to egg them on. Stephen’s expression darkened, and he was about to say something when Quentin bolted out of the booth without warning. He had been so quick on his feet that he left a breeze in his wake.

Stephen directed his gaze back to Tessa and her friends. Naomi was drunk out of her mind at that point. She rested her head on a host’s chest, a dazed look on her face. Seeing how Quentin was fast approaching them, Stephen was worried that he would be noticed. He moved into a corner that was in Tessa’s blind spot.

Naomi was giddily enjoying the muscular chest pillowing her head when she was suddenly yanked away, falling into another warm embrace. She hadn’t yet processed what was happening before Quentin punched the host in the chest while yelling, “Get lost!”

The host did not take kindly to being attacked. His temper flared, and he was about to retaliate when his colleagues held him back. “Chill! Relax!”

The commotion had snapped Naomi partially out of her drunken haze. She let out a surprised gasp and moved forward to check on the host. “Are you okay?”

The host wore a furious expression. His face and neck had turned a ruddy red as he glared at Quentin.

“I’m sorry. Let me pay for your medical bills.”

Naomi lowered her head and rummaged through her bag. She pulled out a few bills and shoved them at the host. “I’m so sorry, I only have this much cash on me. I’ll transfer another 500 dollars to you later.”

Quentin tugged Naomi back to his side, outraged. “Come here! Haven’t you embarrassed yourself enough?”

Tessa had also sobered up a little after Quentin’s stunt. She stared at Quentin before asking, “Quentin, what are you doing here?”

“I’m here to bring Naomi home,” he explained to Tessa before whipping around to face Naomi. “Let’s go!”

Tessa asked, “Is he here too?”

“No, I came here by myself.”

Disappointment flickered in Tessa’s

eyes. She should have known.

Stephen was busy enjoying the

embrace of another beauty. He

didn’t have the time to be bothered

with her. Tessa took a few gulps

from the wine bottle she had been

cradling.

“Quentin, do you have a few loose screws? Can’t you talk things out first before

raising your fists and hitting people?” Naomi scolded.

Quention barked out a disbelieving

laugh. “And how would you suggest I

‘talk things out’? You were already all over

m! Naomi, is this how your

mother raised you to behave?”

“You have no say in what I do! You’re not even my real brother!” she yelled, fighting against Quentin’s death grip on her and struggling to break free.

He refused to let go. “I’m taking you back!”

The manager of the bar rushed over. After hearing that a fight had broken out, the manager had brought a few bouncers with him to throw the rowdy guest out. But upon realizing that the guest was none other than the heir of the Taylor family, he immediately changed his tune. He approached Quentin with a

deferential expression, “Mr. Taylor, what happened here?”

Quentin’s face was grim, and he had a cruel glint in his eyes. “So you offer sexual services in this bar of yours?” he snarled.

The manager’s face had gone white from fear. “No, of course not! There must be some sort of misunderstanding. We’re a proper establishment.”

“Then, how would you explain them?” Quentin pointed at the hosts.

Beads of cold sweat formed on the manager’s forehead. He answered carefully, “They’re just here to accompany our patrons when they’re drinking. They don’t sell their bodies.”