【I'm in 305】

　　The two messages were only a few minutes apart.

　　Charles Foster vaguely sensed something was wrong. He opened a bottle of beer and casually asked, “Did anyone come to 305 at Linshui today?”

　　Sitting next to him was the young master of the The Cooper Family. As the giant in Jingcheng’s food and entertainment industry, Linshui was one of their clubs.

　　Alice Cooper said, “305? Why are you asking about that?” He was shuffling cards, then suddenly remembered something: “Wait, I think I do remember. When I went upstairs today, I ran into Samuel Harris and his group. I think they went into 305.”

　　“Pfft!”

　　Charles Foster spat out all the beer in his mouth.

　　Alice Cooper quickly dodged to the side, cursing, “Damn, are you looking for a beating?”

　　Charles Foster was so angry he crushed the can in his hand, stood up, his eyes dark and his tone icy: “Wang, Bei, Dan?”

　　The people nearby could tell he was furious and asked in confusion, “What’s wrong? Sure, that guy is disgusting, but he hasn’t messed with you, has he?”

　　Samuel Harris had a terrible reputation in their circle.

　　He was into bizarre things, had twisted tastes, and years ago almost played a third-rate actress to death in his apartment. It was only thanks to the The Harris Family spending a fortune to cover it up.

　　Charles Foster’s face was black with anger. He shouted, “My cousin is in 305 right now!”

　　Everyone gasped in shock.

　　The young master from the The Carter Family looked like such a well-behaved, delicate kid. Surely that idiot Samuel Harris wouldn’t be stupid enough to drag him in there.

　　Charles Foster, fiercely protective of his cousin, strode out, gritting his teeth: “Damn it, if my cousin loses even a single hair, I’ll beat him into the ICU today!”

　　“Hey, wait, we’ll go with you.”

　　Several of Jingcheng’s young masters hurriedly stood up.

　　No joke—if anything happened to William Carter, their families’ old men would break their legs.

　　Linshui, third floor.

　　Following behind William Carter, the manager was miserable: “Young master, how could your classmate possibly be here?”

　　William Carter’s little face was cold: “If I say he’s here, then he’s here.”

　　The manager felt like he was being pushed into a fire pit by a little brat, but he could only brace himself and knock on the door.

　　Soon, the door to 305 opened.

　　The one who opened it was a young man with dyed yellow hair, dark circles under his eyes, and a face full of annoyance: “What do you want?”

　　The manager was sweating: “I heard there was some trouble here, so I came to check.”

　　Yellow Hair sneered, “No! Get lost!”

　　With that, he tried to slam the door shut.

　　But his hand was caught by a slender, fair hand of a teenager.

　　A slightly cold voice sounded: “My friend is inside.”

　　Yellow Hair looked past him and saw a boy in a white T-shirt and jeans. His eyes lit up immediately.

　　He already liked boys, and with Samuel Harris he’d always acted like a tyrant in Jingcheng. Seeing William Carter’s fair face, he felt a heat between his legs. He squinted and grinned lewdly: “You mean that one called Ethan Brooks? He’s your friend? Friends are great—want to come in and play together?”

　　The manager tried to warn Yellow Hair: “No, this is—”

　　But William Carter had already pushed past him, sneering, “Sure.”

　　Yellow Hair enthusiastically opened the door.

　　William Carter stepped right in.

　　Music was playing in the private room, noisy and rowdy, the atmosphere chaotic and restless. The air was thick with smoke and the sharp smell of alcohol. Several men sat on the sofa.

　　But while they had their arms around women’s waists, their eyes were all mockingly fixed on the center of the room, jeering.

　　“Drink!”

　　“Young Master Wang always keeps his word!”

　　“Finish your drink and we’ll let that dumb woman go!”

　　William Carter followed their gaze and saw Ethan Brooks.

　　The protagonist of "Gentle Control."

　　White shirt, black trousers—Ethan Brooks still had a student’s innocence, but his features were already strikingly sharp. Light fell on his brows and eyes, his coolness seeming to turn to frost.

　　Several empty bottles were already on the table.

　　But Ethan Brooks’s movements didn’t stop. His slender hand lifted the bottle and poured the drink in one smooth motion, like a seasoned pro.

　　The boy had unbuttoned his shirt to the second button, tilted his head back, and the liquor running from the corner of his lips down his collarbone was almost indecently sexy.

　　He finished a bottle.

　　Set it on the table.

　　“Ten.”

　　The boy lowered his eyes, his voice icy.

　　In this abyss of debauchery and decadence, he was as clean and indifferent as a ray of light.

　　Kneeling on the floor was a woman whose makeup was already ruined from crying. She also looked up at him, stunned.

　　Ten bottles of Linshui’s deadliest liquor—if it didn’t kill you, it would at least give you a perforated stomach.

　　In the center of the sofa sat a slightly chubby man, smoking, his tone meaningful: “You actually finished them all.”

　　Ethan Brooks’s voice was indifferent: “Let her go.”

　　Samuel Harris stared lecherously at the boy’s delicate face, licked his lips, and stubbed out his cigarette on the table.

　　“Fine, I’ll let her go. But I paid a lot for this woman. Letting her go for just ten bottles of booze feels like a loss to me. How about you compensate me with something else?”

　　Ethan Brooks’s pupils contracted. He said nothing, but his hand clenched tighter and tighter.

　　The others all wore knowing smiles. Anyone Young Master Wang set his sights on was definitely not leaving tonight.