Lucy glanced up at Luke, her vision slightly blurred. "That's crap. You're the one who's wasted."
Luke had heard enough. Straightening up, he took Lucy's hand firmly. "All right, I'm taking you home. You can't handle your drinks, yet you still down this much—and when you're drunk, you've got zero decorum. Who's gonna put up with you later on?"
Lucy stuck out her lower lip. "You're the lightweight."
Not interested in arguing, Luke simply scooped her up into his arms without another word.
At the same time, he said to Vincent, "Vincent, I'm getting her home. You should head out soon, too."
Vincent gave a brief nod. "Got it."
Then Luke carried Lucy out of the room.
On the way out, Lucy kept waving a hand vaguely in the air. "C'mon, Scarlett... bottoms up!"
Scarlett turned and watched her. Seeing Lucy so completely out of it yet still oddly adorable, she couldn't help a soft laugh.
And Vincent happened to catch that laugh.
When she noticed his gaze fixed on her, Scarlett started slightly. Realizing he was watching, she stood up quickly. "I should get going, too."
She rose too fast—her head spun, balance failing, and she nearly tipped straight toward the floor.
But Vincent's hand shot out, closing around her arm.
Once she steadied herself, Scarlett became aware of the heavy, sluggish feeling in her limbs.
She'd definitely overdone it with the drinks.
Her mind was still clear-ish, but her body wasn't keeping up.
Feeling Vincent's grip on her arm, Scarlett tried to pull away. "Let go."
Vincent didn't release her. Instead, he rose the next moment, his tone cool. "You're in no state. I'll take you home."
Home?
Where even was home anymore?
Scarlett actually paused to consider the question.
But before she could follow that thought, Vincent leaned down as if to lift her.
The moment he moved toward her, Scarlett called out sharply, "Damian!"
Almost as soon as the name left her lips, the private room door was shoved hard from outside.
Scarlett looked over to see Damian standing there in a black overcoat. He strode inside, deliberately pushing Vincent's hand aside with a firm, possessive motion.
At the same time, he said to Vincent, tone leaving no room for courtesy, "Don't trouble yourself, Mr. Stewart. I'll take care of my own woman."


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