C59 Stop!

She had never encountered such a gaze before.

Without a second thought, she tossed her phone aside, flung the car door open, stepped out, and raised her hands in surrender.

"How did he know I had cosmetic surgery? He's terrifying!"

Westley approached Vaden with the speed of lightning and delivered a swift punch.

Striking Vaden on the back of the neck, he knocked him out cold.

Westley began rifling through his pockets.

Quickly, he found a clear plastic bottle containing several purple pills.

Westley poured out one pill, gave it a sniff, and had a good idea of its intended effects.

"Do you recognize this drug?" Westley interrogated the influencer.

"It's a sedative. Vaden had it specially brought in from abroad," the influencer confessed, too scared to lie.

"What a lowlife, resorting to such vile tactics," Westley scoffed with disdain.

After a moment's thought, he forced Vaden's mouth open and emptied the entire bottle of pills into it.

Having dealt with that, Westley hoisted the unconscious Vaden into the passenger seat.

Turning to the still-reeling influencer, he asked, "Can you drive?"

"Yes, I can!" the influencer responded.

"Then get behind the wheel and take him to the Night Beauty bath center in the north district," Westley instructed.

"Why there?" the influencer asked, bewildered.

"Just do as you're told. Someone will be there to take care of him once you arrive, and then you're free to go," Westley replied icily.

The influencer nodded, clearly too intimidated to question Westley's command.

With Aimee on his back, Westley warned, "If you even think about calling the cops, he'll be busted for drug use. You understand the fallout that would cause?"

The influencer, too frightened to speak, simply nodded.

"Good, now go!"

The influencer hurriedly climbed into the driver's seat, started the car, and sped off.

Westley then pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

"Westley?"

Tafari's voice came through, bustling with background noise.

"Tafari, where are you?" Westley inquired.

"Just grabbing some late-night food with the crew," Tafari replied.

"Listen, I need you to handle something for me," Westley said, his tone dropping to a serious register.

Sensing the urgency in Westley's voice, Tafari's demeanor instantly turned solemn.

He slipped into a secluded corner and murmured, "What's the matter? I'll do whatever I can."

Once Westley had received the details, he ended the call, a sly grin spreading across his lips.

A wave of heat brushed his neck, prompting him to instinctively turn around.

To his shock, Aimee was awake, her gaze fixed intently on him.

"When did you wake up?" he inquired with caution.

Aimee, however, seemed dazed and didn't respond, her smile growing increasingly bizarre.

Her expression was unnerving.

Caught off guard, Aimee suddenly lunged forward and sank her teeth into Westley's neck.

He winced at the searing pain, accompanied by a subtle warmth.

Her bite was forceful, drawing blood.

With effort, Westley pried her head away.

But Aimee quickly targeted the left side of his neck.

This time, Westley was ready.

He blocked her chin with one hand and demanded, "Why are you biting me?"

Immobile, Aimee continued to fixate on him with her eyes.

She resembled a soulless zombie, with Westley as nothing more than her prey.

"This drug is way too potent," Westley muttered, frowning.

He knew he needed to neutralize the drug's effects on Aimee, but stranded on the highway, he was powerless.

After pondering his options, Westley decided to head home first.

He pulled a cigarette pack from his pocket and placed it between Aimee's teeth.

Clamping down, Aimee gnawed on it as if it were a delicacy, whimpering contentedly.

"You're really acting like a dog," Westley chuckled.

Then, he hoisted Aimee onto his back and sprinted off.

Half an hour later, they arrived at the gates of the Aristocratic Villa.

Upon ringing the doorbell, Mr. Ferguson's icy voice inquired from within, "Who is it?"

It was none other than the Rogers family's good-for-nothing son-in-law.

Westley rolled his eyes, well aware that Mr. Ferguson never missed a chance to nitpick.

"Mr. Ferguson, it's me," Westley announced.

"Oh, what's kept you out so late?"

Mr. Ferguson muttered his complaint while leisurely unlocking the door.

As he swung the door open, ready to give his son-in-law a piece of his mind, he was taken aback to see Westley with a girl on his back.

"Isn't that Second Miss? What brings you two together?" Mr. Ferguson was genuinely astonished.

Earlier in the evening, Second Miss had mentioned she was going out with a friend, and Mr. Ferguson had personally arranged a ride for her.

He certainly hadn't anticipated their joint return.

"Second Miss had a bit too much to drink. I ran into her on my way and decided to bring her home," Westley fabricated.

He couldn't very well admit that Second Miss had been drugged and that he had rescued her.

After all, Mr. Ferguson might suspect him of foul play.

"Oh?"

Mr. Ferguson was perplexed; he couldn't detect the scent of alcohol on Second Miss.

And what was with the Red Tower Mountain cigarette pack in her mouth?

What was going on here?

"Mr. Ferguson, would you mind fetching a basin of water? I need to help Second Miss sober up," Westley said, aware of Mr. Ferguson's sharpness. He quickly dropped the request and dashed inside the house.

Mr. Ferguson's brow furrowed, his mind swirling with odd thoughts.

"Is he really giving me orders today?"

Still, he set aside his suspicions and followed suit.

Westley ascended to the second floor and pushed open the door to Aimee's boudoir.

It was Westley's first time stepping into Aimee's private space—she had always guarded it from him as though he were a lecher.

The room was a vision in pink: pink walls, a pink desk, pink curtains, and even a pink bed.

"She truly is a pink princess," he mused.

Westley strode to the bed and gently laid her down.

Aimee let out a soft grunt, her body shifting slightly.

By chance, her shirt rode up, exposing her smooth stomach and the adorable navel.

Westley swallowed hard and bent down closer to her neck.

"Stop, you brute!"