She grabbed Dominic’s wrist, her voice raw and hoarse, like sand scraping against stone. “It hurts… please—let go of me… I can’t drink anymore…”
Even under the dim lights, her face was turning a deep, alarming red. She looked seconds away from collapsing.
For a moment, something flickered in Dominic’s eyes—hesitation, maybe even pity. His grip also loosened slightly.
But Caroline quickly stepped in, her tone soft and falsely concerned.
“Forget it, Dominic,” she said sweetly. “As a woman, I can’t bear to see another woman suffer. Just let her go. I’ve already endured so much in my life; a little more doesn’t matter. I only feel guilty that I didn’t take better care of the dress you gave me.”
Her pitiful tone hit him like a dart straight to the chest, making Dominic’s expression harden again. Without another word, he grabbed another bottle and poured it down Hazel’s throat.
The second wave hit harder. Her vision blurred, her stomach churned violently, and then she couldn’t hold it back anymore. She vomited all over the floor.
The room filled with murmurs of disgust as the men around them covered their noses and stepped back.