A Desperate Toast

Staring at the brimming crystal glass of high-proof liquor, Sloane did not allow a single flicker of hesitation to show on her face.

"Of course." She picked up the heavy glass and drained the burning liquid in one seamless go, suppressing the immediate, savage fire tearing down her esophagus. Without pausing for breath, she reached for the crystal decanter, poured two more full glasses in rapid succession, and swallowed both. The sheer alcohol content hit her empty stomach like a physical blow. Placing the empty glass forcefully onto the mahogany table with a sharp clank, she looked at the predatory director with a forced, breathless smile. "Is this enough, Mr. Caldwell?"

Across the large circular table, Gianna watched this display with tightening lips. Unwilling to sit on the sidelines while Sloane skillfully navigated the room of shrewd businessmen, Gianna awkwardly raised her own delicate glass. A stiff, unnatural smile stretched across her face as she attempted to backtrack on her disastrous impulsiveness from earlier that day. "Mr. Caldwell, I was in the wrong before. I acted too hastily. This drink is for you—consider it my apology."

Yet, her tone carried a lingering condescension. As a sheltered heiress with zero experience in the brutal reality of business dinners, she naively assumed her mere voice commanded respect. She forgot the blatant insults she had hurled at Gideon during their previous encounter. Predictably, her empty gesture earned zero acknowledgment from the offended Stratton Group representatives. Gideon did not even glance her way, much less touch his drink.

Panicking under the heavy, awkward silence, Gianna tried to save face by drinking her liquor far too fast. The harsh alcohol caught in her throat. She choked immediately, coughing hard as tears streamed down her flushed cheeks.

Prompted by her sudden distress, Declan intervened without a second thought. He reached over, gently patting her back to soothe her. He smoothly took the glass from her trembling hand. "My assistant just graduated and isn't used to this," he said coolly to Gideon. "I will drink this on her behalf. Please don't hold it against her."

With that, Declan downed the rest of her drink in one swallow. This deeply intimate gesture sent a glaringly obvious signal to every man in the private room: Gianna was strictly under his personal protection. Anyone with an ounce of sense would drop their grudge out of respect for him.

Watching this display of unwavering devotion, Sloane felt her already damaged stomach physically twist. The fierce fire of the alcohol gnawed miserably at her ulcerated lining, making her nauseous and dizzy. To make her agonizing situation exponentially worse, Gideon ruthlessly seized the heavy decanter again. He continuously and aggressively refilled Sloane's glass to the brim, a sick glint in his eye indicating his intent to drink her under the table.

Seeing the escalating danger, Declan finally showed a shred of concern. He reached out and placed a firm hand over Sloane's glass. "I will drink Ms. Mercer's share as well."

"Mr. Sterling, you are truly chivalrous," Gideon sneered, his smile failing to reach his cold eyes.

Another Stratton Group representative chimed in, leaning forward. "Indeed, Mr. Sterling. You are drinking for both your assistant and your secretary. Isn't that pushing it?" Though lower in status, these men represented a corporate giant and refused to sacrifice their leverage. They cornered him. "Exactly. If you drink for everyone, how can we proceed? Choose one person to drink for, not both. What do you say, Mr. Sterling?"

The luxurious private room instantly plunged into a deathly, suffocating silence. Declan's jaw tightened, his gaze turning frighteningly cold. Sloane sat perfectly still. She kept her hands resting quietly in her lap, waiting with bated breath to see exactly what choice Declan would make. She knew the Stratton executives wouldn't push too hard if Declan insisted on shielding her, even if it risked the contract.

Beneath the heavy tablecloth, Gianna frantically hooked her manicured fingers with Declan's. "Declan," she whispered, her voice a pathetic, trembling plea. "I don't want to drink."

Declan squeezed her hand back in reassurance. He gave her a subtle look to calm her down. Glancing between the two women, he made his rapid calculation. Assuming Gianna was far too fragile and pampered to navigate a vicious business dinner, and falsely believing Sloane—with her years of corporate warfare—could handle anything thrown her way, he made his decision. He chose to let Sloane fend for herself against the wolves. He remained tragically ignorant of her severe, deteriorating stomach condition that could trigger fatal internal bleeding at any moment. Today, she had to endure it. He would make it up to her later.

A bitter, hollow smile played at the corners of Sloane's lips. She bit the inside of her cheek to ground herself against the agonizing pain. The undeniable truth lay bare: her intense physical suffering meant infinitely less to him than a simple, whining plea from Gianna.

The raucous laughter from the men echoed around her. Fighting her rapidly blurring vision and the deafening buzz in her head, Sloane turned her focus back to Gideon's overflowing glass. "Ms. Mercer, let's continue!" Gideon prompted, pushing the drink closer.

Sloane drew a slow, shallow breath. Her voice came out terrifyingly steady. "If you want to drink, I will certainly keep you company. But before we do, shouldn't we discuss the project first?"

Gideon arrogantly deflected her pivot. Ignoring her words, he picked up his chopsticks and tasted the steamed fish sitting in the center of the table. He chewed slowly before loudly remarking, "This fish tastes a bit bland. You should try it."

The implication hung heavy in the air. This was a blatant, coded extortion demanding significantly better contract terms from the Sterling Group. The deal had already been finalized; this sudden demand was a sheer power play.

Declan's expression darkened thunderously at the insult. Slashing profit margins would leave his company in a vulnerable, compromised position. He shot Sloane a severe, meaningful look across the table. His eyes issued a strict, silent warning: do not yield a single inch on the company's profit margins, even if it meant blowing the entire deal tonight.

Meeting his commanding gaze for just a fraction of a second, Sloane turned away. She smiled calmly at the predatory executive. "So, Mr. Caldwell, how much more salt do you think would be appropriate? Maybe a precise percentage?"

She played directly into his metaphor, testing his greed. Beside Declan, Gianna leaned in and foolishly whispered into his ear. She was baffled as to how table salt could possibly be measured in percentages. "Is Ms. Mercer stupid?" she muttered. Declan ignored her, keeping his dark gaze fixed on Sloane.

Gideon smiled broadly, his greed fully exposed. "Twenty percent more should do it."

"Twenty percent is certainly doable," Sloane nodded, her smile never wavering.

Instantly, the atmosphere in the room shattered. Everyone's expressions morphed into absolute shock. Declan shot her a severe, murderous glare. He had made his unyielding position very clear, leaving him silently furious as to what she thought she was doing.