Chapter 1475

The two women drank steadily, shot after shot. Unbeknownst to them, someone had been watching from the moment they entered the bar.

When they neared the end of their drinks, a man casually rose, descended the stairs, and seated himself beside them, wine glass in hand.

“Excuse me, ladies. Mind if I join you for a drink?” he asked, sliding into the seat next to Aubree, his movement deliberately brushing against her.

Aubree, already intoxicated from Frieda’s persistent pouring, was off guard, leaning against the newcomer. Frieda, however, remained wary. “Do we know you?” she asked.

The man offered a calm smile, clinking glasses with Frieda. “Perhaps not yet, but we will.”

He turned to Aubree, a flirtatious grin on his face. “Seems this young lady is quite fond of me.”

After consuming half his wine, he poured the remainder into Aubree’s mouth. Aubree, already unsteady, grasped his wrist, pulled the glass closer, and drank it down.

“Aubree!” Frieda exclaimed, anxiety rising. She couldn't allow this man to take advantage of her former friend. Standing, she moved to pull Aubree away.

Before she could reach her, the man smirked, seizing her wrist. “The lady accepted my drink; she’s mine tonight. Don’t spoil my fun!”

His tone was icy. He shoved Frieda onto the couch, then gently lifted Aubree onto his shoulder in a fireman's carry and headed for the door.

Shocked and frightened, Frieda scrambled up, pursuing him. Her sprained ankle, injured when the man shoved her, hampered her progress through the crowded bar.

In an instant, they were gone. Panic seized Frieda. If something terrible happened to Aubree…

Her concern deepened. Her well-meaning actions could push Aubree back into madness, potentially dragging Frieda down with her. This thought made her grit her teeth, ignoring the pain in her foot as she searched the crowd.

Despite her efforts, she couldn't find them. Helpless and uneasy, her gaze fell on a familiar figure in a corner. He held a phone pointed towards the door, seemingly taking pictures.

Frieda approached him. “Cory!”

He paused, lowering his phone. His usually delicate features were gaunt and unfamiliar. “Ms. Queen, long time no see.”

Frieda’s gaze was stern, wary. “What are you doing here? Whose photos are you taking?” Her brother had told her Lucian, the private investigator, was dismissed and supposedly dead after a casino incident. What was he doing here? Had he photographed her with Aubree?