After hearing Mary Mayfield’s story, Daphne John blinked her large eyes and asked, “Mary, is this for real? No one was interested in your long legs? If I were a guy, I’d be all over you in a second.”
“Yeah, I was shocked too! I mean, if he just looked down, he’d see everything men dream about, yet he didn’t even flinch!” Mary Mayfield started to doubt if her allure had somehow lost its magic.
“By the way, do you think my figure’s still alright?”
She turned around in front of Daphne, posing dramatically.
Daphne shook her head, “No way! I can’t believe it. If I were a guy, I’d be… well, you know, completely into you.”
Suddenly, she seemed to have an epiphany. “Wait, did you meet a eunuch? Or maybe a GAY?”
Mary immediately shot back, “Impossible! You don’t understand. He was so smooth, so skilled. In just a few moves, he took down two of Asher Peters’ bodyguards and beat Asher Peters to a pulp! His style was so cool-he moved like a pro! A man with that kind of confidence and strength could never be a GAY!”
A dreamy look crept onto Mary’s face as she remembered the scene.
Daphne looked at her, surprised. “Mary, you didn’t fall for him, did you?”
Mary was quick to admit, “Yes, I did! He’s the only man I’ve met who didn’t seem interested in me. I can’t say I’m the most irresistible, but come on-any man from sixteen to eighty usually can’t take their eyes off me. But his attitude, his confidence-he was something else. I really liked it.”
Confidence comes from noble looks.
Daphne raised an eyebrow. “So, did you ask him for his number?”
Mary Mayfield blinked. “I gave him mine. I told him that if anyone connected to Walter Peters caused trouble, he should call me. I believe he’ll call me. He will, I’m sure.”
“Walter Peters is no joke. His son just got beaten to a pulp. If Walter doesn’t track this guy down, it wouldn’t be his style.”
“You’re right!”
Mary agreed, confidently. “I’ve thought it through, and I’m certain he’ll call.”
Just then, her phone rang.
She looked at the screen and saw an unknown number.
She exchanged a glance with Daphne and said, “Could it be him calling already?”
“Answer it! Put it on speaker!” Daphne urged with excitement.
Mary answered the call. A man’s voice came through.
“Hello, Miss. Are you Mary Mayfield?”
“Yes? Who is this?” Mary asked, confused.
The voice on the other end continued, “Congratulations, Miss Mayfield! You’ve won 880, 000 cash from our lottery! In order to claim your prize, we just need you to send a 3, 000-dollar deposit!”
Before the man could finish his sentence, Mary hung up the phone with a sharp “click.”
“Ugh, these damn deceivers! Can’t they just die?” she muttered in irritation.
Daphne couldn’t hold back her laughter. “Haha! That was priceless!”
Nearby, in the luxury establishment known as Club Grace.
This was one of Vernon’s high-end locations, where hotels, bathhouses, massage parlors, and KTV lounges were all in one place. It was a place where one could eat, drink, and be entertained, though during the daytime, it seemed empty and quiet.
But the real allure of the place came at night, when it transformed into a vibrant hotspot.
In one of the plush sofas, several serious-looking individuals were gathered. A middle-aged man, well-dressed in a suit, was sitting in a state of barely contained rage. He gripped a glass tightly in his hand, his thumb adorned with a jade ring-showing just how much authority he held.
Suddenly, he raised the glass and smashed it onto the floor with a sharp crash. The sound made everyone in the room freeze.
His furious voice echoed through the room. “Damn it! Who the hell dared to touch my son?”
The roar reverberated through the lavish hall, making the few nearby service staff shiver in fear.
This was Walter Peters, one of the most powerful men in Vernon-a man whose slightest move could shake the ground. When he was angry, no one dared to stand in his way.
“Son, didn’t you tell him who your father is?” Walter Peters glared at his son, Asher, whose face was now swollen and battered.
Looking at Asher Peters, whose face was beaten into a swollen mess, Walter Peters felt a mixture of anger and resentment. He was furious that his son had been beaten so badly and hadn’t even been able to fight back. What made it worse was the insult to his pride-this man had struck his son, but it was his own face that had been slapped. The sound of that slap was so loud that it left him seething with rage.
The Club Grace was owned by Walter Peters, though this was just one of his many businesses.
In Vernon, his status was quite prominent. While he may not have ranked among the city’s most powerful families, in the realms of business and underground organizations, many people followed his orders without question.
Asher, still clutching his bruised face, meekly responded, “I told him, Dad. But he said, even if Walter Peters himself was here, he’d still go ahead and do whatever he wanted. He said he’d beat you up just the same.”
Asher Peters had only just regained consciousness half an hour after the beating. The shock from the punch was so overwhelming that his swollen eye could barely make out anything.
“Damn it!” Walter growled, his anger reaching a boiling point.
Walter Peters had built his empire through connections and his strong presence in the world of business and underground dealings. His life motto was that “one’s reputation is everything!” Now, someone had slapped his face-not just by hurting his son, but with the audacity of the words they had spoken.
The person who did this didn’t just attack his son; they were openly mocking him, trying to provoke him into a confrontation.
This insult was personal.
Walter’s fury was like a wildfire, growing hotter and fiercer by the second. He could no longer hold it back.
With a furious growl, he raised his fist and slammed it down onto the coffee table with all his might.
Clang! The loud crash rang through the room, but it was followed by a sharp hiss from Walter as a shooting pain shot through his hand. He immediately retracted his fist, the excruciating pain radiating through his knuckles.
“Damn it,” Walter muttered, his rage growing even more intense as he clutched his injured hand. This is just getting worse and worse!