She Left She Thrived She’s Worth Billions novel Chapter 414

Melanie whipped her head around to see a middle-aged woman dripping in gaudy jewelry stumbling toward them. Even from a distance, the stench of cheap liquor was overpowering.

She waved a half-empty bottle of brandy at Preston.

"You. Come over here and entertain me."

The drunk woman slurred aggressively.

Preston didn't flinch. He didn't even blink.

Unused to being ignored by the club staff, the drunk woman’s voice pitched into a screech.

"Are you deaf?! You're just a gigolo! Don't act all high and mighty! You just want cash, right?"

She violently dug into her Louis Vuitton bag and pulled out thick stacks of bills.

It was rare to see anyone carrying that much physical cash these days; she had clearly come to the club specifically to throw her weight around.

"I have plenty of money! Come here, name your price!"

The woman roared, hurling the bills into the air.

The club patrons immediately zeroed in on the raining currency, entirely missing the fact that Preston had casually pulled out his phone and fired off a text message.

"See that?! I'm loaded! Serve me well and I'll make you rich!"

The commotion brought Daphne sprinting over.

As the owner, she had to handle unruly regulars carefully without immediately burning bridges.

"Ms. Milton, there’s been a misunderstanding. This gentleman does not work here."

But Ms. Milton was far too wasted to listen to reason.

"Misunderstanding, my ass! Do I look blind to you? Look at how he’s dressed! And didn't that bitch just buy him a whole set of Ace of Spades?"

Ms. Milton aggressively pointed the brandy bottle at Melanie’s table.

"That... that's because—"

Before Daphne could finish, Ms. Milton shoved her aside and lunged toward Melanie.

"Oh, so she gets special treatment because she's your friend?! I spend a fortune here! I'm a Diamond VIP, and I'm supposed to settle for your ugly leftovers?! Not tonight! You’re going to give me that handsome boy, or I'm going to smash this whole place to pieces!"

Fueled by liquid courage, Ms. Milton raised the heavy brandy bottle and swung it directly at Melanie's head.

Daphne screamed in horror.

Melanie instantly dodged to the side, stumbling right into a rock-hard chest.

She was completely sober now, finally realizing that this devastatingly handsome man was absolutely, unequivocally not an entertainer.

Not a chance!

Right on cue, a pudgy middle-aged man burst through the club doors, panting heavily.

Melanie recognized him instantly—it was Mr. Whitlock, the CEO of Oakridge Timberworks.

Ms. Milton gaped at him.

"Honey? What are you doing here?"

"You've caused a massive disaster, you stupid woman!"

Mr. Whitlock hissed, looking even more terrified than his wife.

"I am so sorry, Mr. Whit—I mean, Mr. Whitmore, sir! My wife is an idiot, she didn't know—"

Preston didn't utter a single syllable. He simply shot the man a glacial, lethal glare.

Mr. Whitlock instantly clamped his mouth shut, grabbed his wife by the arm, and hauled her out of the club as fast as his legs could carry him.

Melanie frowned. How on earth did the CEO of Oakridge Timberworks know Preston's last name?