Inside the suite, the sight of the ten scantily clad men shocked Anastasia so thoroughly that she sobered up instantly.

"What... what is this?!"

The men lined up, each one handsome and impeccably built. They were all smiling at her—some gently, some suggestively, all with a hungry look in their eyes.

"See?" Stella slurred, waving a generous hand. "Pick one. Or two, or three... you can take them all with you!" She fumbled with a hotel key card and pressed it into Anastasia's hand. "Look, I even got you a room!"

"You can have any of them," she mumbled, her voice thick with emotion. "Just give Uncle Harrison back to Naomi... She'll be so sad if she sees him with someone else..."

"Well, I'll be sad if I can't be with your Uncle Harrison!" Anastasia retorted, exasperated.

She tried to stand and leave, but the alcohol had made her unsteady. She stumbled, and Stella seized the opportunity to pull her back down.

"If you can't pick one," Stella declared, "then they can all have a go!" She turned to the escorts. "All of you, over here! Make her happy, and you won't have to worry about the tip!"

At those words, the men looked at Anastasia as if she were a prime cut of steak. Without a moment's hesitation, they swarmed her, surrounding her completely. One tried to steady her, another offered to wipe her face, and a third shamelessly grabbed her hand and tried to press it against his sculpted abs.

Anastasia's scalp tingled with panic. She had never, in two lifetimes, been in a situation like this. Pale with fright, she was about to fight her way out when-

*BANG!*

The door to the suite was violently kicked open.

A tall figure stood silhouetted in the doorway, wreathed in shadow and fury,

looking like the Grim Reaper come to collect a soul.

Anastasia's face went white. A single thought echoed in her mind.

*I'm so dead.*

Her alcohol-muddled brain was slow to react. Before she could process what was happening, a team of imposing bodyguards stormed the room, effortlessly peeling the escorts away from her. Then, Harrison was standing before her.

His face was a thunderous mask of rage. Anastasia was certain he was about to strike her dead on the spot. Spurred by a primal instinct for

.n

survival, she threw herself into his

arms Harriso

save me she

Finto fis

waited. "There were monsters trying

to eat me!"

The torrent of Harrison's anger stalled for a fraction of a second. Gritting his teeth, he scooped her up into his arms. He shot a glacial Jook over his shoulder, his eyes locking onto a terrified Stella. "Bring ber," he snarled.

His gaze swept over the cowering escorts. "Take care of them."

"Yes, sir,” Logan replied grimly. He understood perfectly. The story *"Harrison Lancaster's wife hires ten male escorts because he can't satisfy her"* could absolutely not see the light of day.

Harrison, suppressing a volcano of fury, carried Anastasia back to Rosewood Manor. He didn't stop downstairs but strode directly up to the bedroom and tossed her onto the bed.

"You've gotten bold, haven't you? Sneaking off to a place like that

behind my back? Were ten men not enough? Should I have ordered ten more for you so you could have a proper party?" he seethed standing over her. The air around hir crackled with a terrifying energy.

Anastasia, who had landed face-down in the plush duvet, suddenly began flailing

her limbs. “Help... help... I can't swim! I'm drowning! Harrison, save me, boohoo..."

The alcohol had finally pushed her over the edge into complete incoherence.

***