The idiot named “Alan” was indeed provoked by those words. He abruptly yanked Thelma toward him and raised his glass, forcing it toward her mouth as he growled, “You must drink this glass of wine! If you don’t, I won’t let it go!”
Drink… your mother’s ghost!
Thelma turned her head away to avoid the glass and, without hesitation, grabbed a bottle from the table and smashed it over his head.
With a crisp sound, the bottle shattered into pieces upon impact.
The previously rowdy private room instantly fell silent. Even Thelma was stunned. She instinctively stared at her own hands, as if awakening from a dream.
How could this happen? Smashing a bottle over someone’s head—something she had never even dared to imagine before. Yet just moments ago, she had acted without much thought, naturally picking up the bottle and smashing it.
After a brief moment of silence, someone in the room suddenly exclaimed, “Ah!Alan, you’re bleeding!”
Alan, dazed from the blow, slumped into a chair. He reached up to touch the spot where he had been hit and felt something wet. When he brought his hand to his eyes, it was covered in blood.
Alan looked up at Thelma, somewhat bewildered. Only after regaining his senses did he let out a furious roar, “Damn it, you actually dared to hit me!”
He abruptly stood up, raising his arm to slap Thelma. Samantha, seeing what was about to happen, instinctively rushed forward to protect her, but before she could act, Alan’s raised hand was suddenly grabbed by someone, frozen in midair.
Thelma felt a presence behind her—a person who had suddenly appeared. His chest was pressed against her back, warm and carrying a faint fragrance, reminiscent of camellias. His sudden proximity made her briefly dizzy. She tilted her head back and saw that the person was tall, illuminated partially by the light from the doorway, revealing only half his face.
A resolute jawline, a straight nose, and a tightly drawn expression—yet he seemed to be smiling.
Noah twisted Alan’s arm with a sudden motion, causing him to cry out in pain and instinctively turn away to lessen the pressure. Noah followed with a swift kick to his back, sending Alan stumbling and collapsing to the ground in a humiliating mess.
Surrounded by so many of his men, Alan felt deeply humiliated. He scrambled to his feet, eyes wide with fury, and shouted at the intruder, “Who the hell are you? How dare you touch me?”
Noah casually rotated his wrist, flexing his fingers as he let out a soft laugh. His voice was calm, almost dismissive, as he replied, “Who am I? Someone you can’t afford to mess with.”
This man carried himself with humility and courtesy, yet his presence inspired an instinctive sense of fear. His refined demeanor commanded respect, and his righteous air was undeniable, even with his sharp and imposing aura. But when he spoke those words, Thelma felt an ominous energy radiating from him—a terrifying wickedness that darkened his otherwise commanding aura.
It was the kind of wickedness that instilled fear.
Everyone present felt the same as Thelma. His oppressive presence sent shivers down their spines. Even the previously arrogant Alan was frozen in place, unable to utter a single word for a long time.
The air grew oppressively heavy, the silence broken only by the faintly natural smile lingering on Noah ’s lips.
