"Hold on."
The man's voice was deep and magnetic, carrying an authority that brooked no opposition.
Juniper's feet froze instinctively, but she didn't turn around. "Does Mr. Magnus have any further instructions?"
"If you're here to earn, why the rush to leave?"
Juniper clenched her fists, sensing trouble...
"Thud!"
Magnus casually dropped a thick stack of cash on the table.
He raised an eyebrow with a theatric air. "Finish this bottle and the money's yours."
Drinking...
Juniper's spine shivered, she swallowed hard, "Mr. Blackwood, I'm sorry, I'm allergic to alcohol."
Magnus let out a laugh, disinterestedly tossing out, "Is that right? Seems I've forgotten."
Utterly indifferent.
Forgotten...
Her allergy even to the mildest of fruit wines would leave her covered in hives, and hard liquor could put her into shock.
Six years ago, an accidental sip had left her body covered in angry red welts, and back then, a concerned Magnus had carried her to the hospital in the middle of the night. Swollen arms from medication, he had sat next to her all night, massaging her limbs. Once home, he had personally applied ointment to soothe her skin.
He had promised never to let her touch a drop of alcohol again, claiming he couldn't afford to lose her.
Yeah, he had forgotten... So there was no escaping this drink.
Juniper felt heat in her eyes, she inhaled sharply through her nose, and after wiping away the moisture that threatened to spill, she turned around, a pale smile on her lips. "Alright, I'll drink. Let's hope Magnus doesn't go back on his word."
If Magnus wanted her to drink, she couldn't refuse.
She knew all too well how much he despised her.
That bottle of clear liquid was vodka, a fiery 112-proof, usually mixed into cocktails, but deadly straight up. Even for those without alcohol allergies, a whole bottle could eat through your stomach lining.
Jennifer waited for her at home, and after this drink, she could finally head back.
Juniper glanced at the stack of cash—it was substantial. She chuckled, "Is that thirty thousand?"
Nagnus locked eyes with her, his cold, unwavering gaze. "Thirty-five thousand, for one bottle? You're making a killing."
"Sure am..." And with that, Jennifer's tuition was covered.
As she spoke, Juniper's hand wrapped around the vodka bottle...
Michael intervened and gripped the bottle firmly, "Juniper, that's lethal!"
He couldn't stand by and watch. Juniper had also attended Imperial Capital University—his alma mater. They weren't just acquaintances; they had history from six years back. He couldn't just watch her self-destruct.
He also didn't buy that Magnus had lost all feelings for Juniper. Tonight, he had hoped to mend their strained relationship during Magnus's birthday party, but things had gone sideways.
"Michael, since when do you meddle in Magnus and Juniper's business? If Juniper says she can drink, then she will drink," Robert chimed in, eager to stir the pot. He had never liked Juniper, blaming her for Magnus's three-year stint in prison.
Tears welled up in Juniper's eyes, but she maintained a faint smile, "It's fine, I'll drink. It's Mr. Blackwood's birthday... I mustn't dampen his spirits," she said, her voice choked with emotion.
She lifted the bottle to her lips and swallowed the burning liquor as it scorched her mouth and throat like shards of glass, her tears flowing uncontrollably.
She coughed violently from drinking too fast, spilling some of the vodka.
Soon, Juniper's face and neck, everywhere skin was exposed, turned red—an unmistakable sign of an allergic reaction.
Michael snatched the bottle away, "Enough! Juniper is my guest, and if anyone is drinking more, it'll be me."
Feeling light-headed yet oddly lucid, Juniper wiped the liquor stain from the corner of her mouth and turned to Magnus with a crooked smile. "Happy birthday, Mr. Blackwood."
The man sat there, unaffected, his icy demeanor as chilled as the low light that half-shadowed his strikingly handsome face.
Juniper couldn't discern his expression, as if... she truly didn't recognize him anymore.
Indeed, six years could transform someone beyond recognition.
Six years ago, Magnus wore cheap, white shirts. Now, he was clad in a pricey, bespoke dress shirt right before her eyes, and yet, Juniper felt him worlds away.
Without another word, Magnus made it clear—it was his wish to let Juniper go.
Robert picked up the stack of cash from the table, tossing it carelessly onto Juniper, who failed to catch it, the bills scattering at her feet.
"Miss Beaumont, making money isn't easy, you know. Consider yourself lucky tonight; it's Mr. Blackwood's birthday and he's in a good mood. He let you off the hook."
Juniper nodded, crouching down with hands blotched by rashes, gathering the cash. "Thank you, Mr. Blackwood, thank you, Robert, thank you, Mr. Michael."
As she reached for the last bill, an expensive, handcrafted leather shoe pinned it to the ground.
Magnus stood above her, looking down as if she were nothing more than a speck of dust.
Juniper tugged at the note, but Magnus didn't lift his foot.
With her head bowed, a tear dropped onto his shoe, and in a hoarse whisper, she pleaded, "Mr. Blackwood, please step aside, let me go."
"Do you feel wronged, Juniper?"
"No... not wronged."
She didn't dare feel wronged; she was indebted to him.
The man curled his lips into a smirk, cold and devoid of any warmth. "For those three years inside, 1,095 days, I struggled every day just like you are now. Juniper, you have no right to feel wronged. Tonight, consider it payment for those three years."