The Prince Pretends to Be Poor for Love

Seeing that, a hint of jealousy appeared in the eyes of the woman who had just thrown my wine and raised her hand to slap me again, but her wrist was caught by me.

She yelled at me in exasperation, “Bitch, don't be shameless. A lot of people can't enjoy Mr. Davis' wine.”

“Go ahead and hold her down. The one who dares to refuse me has not yet been born!” Jonathan's voice was as cold as ice, with a sense of oppression that could not be denied.

As I was about to leave, I was kicked in the knee by the man Jonathan brought with him.

With a thud, I slumped down in front of the two men.

The sharp pain made my face pale, and cold sweat continued to drip downwards from my forehead.

The dignity I was so proud of was now being stepped on by my most beloved man.

The sadness in the bottom of my heart could no longer be suppressed as it surged upwards.

The woman ripped off my mask and plunged her long nails into my skin in retaliation.

I frowned in pain and struggled desperately.

She stopped Jonathan's view and poured a full glass of wine into my mouth as if she was venting her anger.

I drank it so quickly that I choked on it and blushed all over my face. I couldn't help but slump to the ground and cough, curling up into a ball in pain.

I was allergic to alcohol, and even a little bit could make me choke.

After a while, my face began to flush with a dense red rash, and I was breathing more and more heavily.

The woman let go of me with satisfaction and lay tenderly into Jonathan's arms with a delicate smile.

“Mr. Davis, how about coming over to my place tonight? I've recently learned some new poses that I'd like to try with you.”

It took me a while to ease my choking sensation.

I fought back the nausea that welled up in my stomach and stood up. As I was about to head out the door, I was stopped by Jonathan.

“Wait. This cufflink is my compensation for you, and it'll be enough for you to live on for the rest of your life if you sell it.”

I looked at him silently, trying to find a bit of familiarity in him.

Unfortunately, there was none at all.

As I was about to extend my hand to take the cufflink that symbolized my humiliation, I heard him chuckle in a low voice.

“You look a lot like my girlfriend, and you're even both allergic to alcohol, but she's not as greedy for money as you are. If it were her, she would never have taken it.”

Girlfriend? How ironic it was.

I retracted my hand with embarrassment as I had an elaborate cufflink in my hand.

I had never seen the logo on it before, and it looked extraordinarily luxurious and totally inaccessible to a person at the bottom of the heap like me.

It was also the first time I realized that one cufflink was enough for me to work my whole life to get.

I turned to leave. I hadn't gotten far when I heard someone ask, “Mr. Davis, to be honest, that girl even sold the old house her mother left behind because of you. Are you really not impressed at all?”