Chapter ３

Three years later.

It was April, and the rain in S city continued.

The club was shrouded in the smoke of the corridor. Beautiful women were teasing the guests, and a burst of harsh and ambiguous sound came.

Looking at the forced expression on her face in the mirror, Amelia Wytte pulled down the hemline of her skirt.

In the past three years, no more scars were left on her face, but her eyes lost their brightness and smartness

"Well, which room do you serve?" The woman who was fixing her makeup glanced at Amelia Wytte and gossiped.

"I'm a waitress serving wine." Amelia Wytte looked down.

"Oh, you have such a good figure. I thought..." the woman withdrew her sight and shrugged. "I heard that there is a distinguished guest tonight. If anyone serves him, she won't have to worry about her salary for several years."

In a twinkling of an eye, she found that Amelia Wytte had disappeared. The woman curled her lips disappointingly.

Amelia Wytte kept her head down and held the wine in her hand, as if all the noise around had nothing to do with her.

After she was released from prison, because of this stain, no company was willing to accept her. In order to make a living, she had to work in a night club with various people. She had to cause less trouble and be more tolerant. It was her principle not to make trouble.

"No. 302. Send the wine to the front room." The manager behind stopped Amelia Wytte.

It was a bottle of high-aged foreign wine. It was only for a valuable guest.

Be careful. Don't make any mistake!"

The spacious box was filled with a lively and extravagant atmosphere. The smell of cigarettes mixed with the ambiguous tone of men and women, making it like a stage drama.

Amelia Wytte carefully held the tray and walked to the center of the room.

"Well, Mr. Clinton ..." a sharp coquettish voice was heard, and immediately flattered.

Almost at the same time, Amelia Wytte looked over there subconsciously.

The tall and straight man, with his legs crossed lazily, put his slender and bony hand on the armrest of the sofa and lit up the cigar in his hand.

He was wrapped around a scantily dressed woman, revealing a large part of her snow-white back, and was rubbing the man's body in an ambiguous and strange posture.

After a while, the man frowned, impatiently pulled the woman away with one hand, and threw her on the sofa without hesitation.

At this time, even if the light was dim, Amelia Wytte could still see his face clearly.

His angular side face and slender eyebrows gradually overlapped with her face in her memory. He was as vigorous as he was three years ago.

Her hands trembled violently. The only thought in Amelia Wytte at this time was to run away.

She put the wine on the table in a hurry and wanted to leave.

"Miss Whytte ." At this time, her slender wrist was firmly gripped from behind.

Nicola Clinton said in a low and hoarse voice, "long time no see."

Amelia Wytte closed her eyes and didn't turn around. She shook her head and said, "you've got the wrong person.

As she spoke, she tried her best to get rid of his grip, but unexpectedly, he increased his strength.

Her thin shoulder was turned over forcefully, and Nicola Clinton looked down at her. His tall figure brought a heavy pressure.

"I will never forget you." There was a hint of mockery in his voice.

At this moment, his existence only made Amelia Wytte feel forced and scared.

Those young and frivolous love had been destroyed in that unfortunate prison.

"Oh, Mr. Clinton , I said you don't want a woman who was active. It seems that you have a hidden beautiful mistress." The young man beside cheered up.

"Yes, she is a little thinner, but she is quite cool and gorgeous. It turns out that Mr. Clinton likes this kind of girl..."

Hearing this, Nicola Clinton raised his eyebrows, loosened his grip and said lazily, "I don't like this kind of person."

Amelia Wytte seemed to have been used to his sarcasm, so she didn't say anything. But he said lightly, "help everyone. Drink all the wine."

For a moment, everyone looked at each other.

"Sorry, I can't drink, and I'm not responsible for drinking." Amelia Wytte was expressionless.

Nicola Clinton picked up his glass and chuckled, but there was no smile in his eyes. "It seems that your manager didn't teach the waiters well."

He raised his eyebrows slightly, clasped his hands, and wrapped his knees wantonly. "Maybe I should remind him."

Amelia Wytte's heart sank. The meaning of Nicola Clinton 's words was obvious. If she didn't drink, she would get her salary and get out of here.

At this time, several young men around also sensed that something was wrong.

The young master of the Clinton family had a weird temperament. He was a man of few words. He tried his best to send a woman to him, but he didn't even look at her.

But now he was forcing a waiter of low status

"I don't think so." A man with hair combed on his back laughed, took out his wallet and threw a pile of money on the table. "Beauty, you have drunk this wine, and the money will belong to you."

The men of high-ranking officials and wealthy businessmen didn't lack money the most when they played. Several people followed and threw a few wads of money.

Amelia Wytte clenched her fists.

She seemed to have no other choice from beginning to end.

She wanted to live. The torture in prison made her sick. She needed money and this job. She needed to live. She needed to find out the truth of the car accident and prove her innocence.

This was the only thing that supported her

"Thank you. I'll drink it." Without any hesitation, Amelia Wytte picked up the glass and gulped it down.

The pungent alcohol went through her throat and into her stomach. She couldn't help choking and wiped the corners of her mouth awkwardly.

Then, Amelia Wytte drank up all the wine in the cup in one breath, and felt a wave of nausea in her stomach.

Seeing this, Nicola Clinton sneered silently.

She really drank it.

She used to be as proud as a swan, and no one could do anything to her. Even if Laura Kent forced her to kowtow at the funeral, she was unwilling to compromise.

But now she had to get the money even though she had been insulted.

His eyes darkened and he put the goblet on the table.

"Didn't you say that you couldn't drink?" He sneered. When Amelia Wytte was about to pick up the stack of cash on the table, he waved his big hand and the pink cash fell all over the ground.

"Fuck off!" His expression was very calm.

Amelia Wytte's hand froze in the air, and the atmosphere in the room froze.

After a while, she forced a smile, half knelt down and picked up the notes scattered on the ground one by one.

Her ten fingers used to be clean, but now they were slightly callus.

Looking at the thin body squatting on the ground, Nicola Clinton silently pulled his tie, but he could not get rid of the irritable anger in his heart.

"Thank you." Amelia Wytte stood up and left the room in a neither humble nor pushy manner. Her eyes never fell on Nicola Clinton again.