The Billionaire’s Secret Quartet (Thalassa and Elowen)
Chapter 1228

At night, the bar was alive with the pulse of music and the thrum of the young seeking solace from the grind of life.

Hertha sat alone nursing a drink, observing the crowd as they gyrated with wild abandon on the dance floor, their bodies contorting to beats that spoke a universal language of release.

The kaleidoscope of lights danced across her face, casting her in a transient glow as she watched the revelers lose themselves to the rhythm.

She wasn't there to escape, but to confront a turmoil that gnawed at her soul, an unsettling that refused to be quelled.

Her contemplative sipping was interrupted by the sudden eclipse of the dance floor spectacle. A figure loomed, clad in a beige button-down that spoke of casual elegance, obscuring her view and disrupting her reverie.

Hertha's glass paused mid-way to her lips, her eyes, misty with confusion, met the striking visage that now scrutinized her. They were sharp, almost fox-like eyes, framed by a face that could turn heads and break hearts. His gaze caught the neon glimmers, mesmerizing her for a heartbeat too long.

With just one glance, her calm pulse quickened as though infused with a fresh vigor.

"You call me here and start drinking without me?" Alaric's voice cut through the thumping bass, his tone laced with annoyance. He noticed her eyes widen, clearly a sign of surprise. Wasn't it she who had summoned him?

Despite the cacophony, Hertha realized she'd been caught staring and quickly averted her gaze. To ease the awkwardness, she took a long sip from her glass, her lashes casting shadows to hide her emotions "Take a seat, I've got something to tell you."

Alaric settled down with a nonchalant sprawl, his legs stretched out and hands resting on his knees.

"I was talking to you just now. Didn't you hear me?" Alaric said, his irritation about Hertha's recent date lingering as he deliberately prodded for a reaction.

Hertha's suppressed discomfort erupted, slamming her glass down on the table and glaring at Alaric. "You're right. I'm just an ordinary person raised from the roots, unaware of your high society's unwritten rules!"

Alaric frowned, his expression darkening. "What are you even talking about? Is that what I meant?"

He'd merely wanted her to feel his presence, to emphasize that he'd come to join her for a drink. How had she missed the point and escalated it to a matter of their social standing?

"I don't care what you meant, Alaric. You look all suave and sophisticated, but why do you have to be such a jerk? Just enjoy stirring up trouble, don't you?" Hertha's anger was relentless.

Alaric's brows furrowed deeper, his stern visage turning frosty. "Hertha, don't push it. Don't think I won't get real with you."

"Go on, get real! Your thing is so thin; what kind of tricks can you even pull off with it?" Hertha was tipsy, her head spinning slightly.

Her words were cutting and loaded with innuendo.

Alaric stiffened, his hands tightening on his knees, his gaze holding back a storm. How dared this woman spew such biting remarks? Alaric was truly angered now, and felt an uncomfortable blockage within.