Chapter 137

Calling him a coward in front of everyone?

No man with an ounce of pride would ever submit to such humiliation—most would rather down the whiskey than endure that kind of public disgrace.

Dylan, his jaw clenched tight with the weight of his pride, forced a strained smile and said, "Mrs. Hartley, you're reading too much into this. I'll drink it."

"A bet is a bet," he declared, his voice steady despite the tension coiling in his gut. "And I always honor mine."

With that, he grabbed the bottle and tipped it back, the amber liquid burning a path down his throat.

The room fell silent except for the sound of Dylan swallowing, each gulp amplifying the suffocating tension in the air.

The others watched, their own throats tightening in sympathy, silently praying he wouldn’t collapse before finishing.

After only a few deep swallows, Dylan set the bottle down, his fingers trembling slightly.

A wave of discomfort crashed through him, the whiskey igniting a fire in his stomach. His face flushed crimson, but he gritted his teeth, refusing to show weakness.

Serena’s eyes darkened with concern, her gaze darting to Nathan, silently begging him to intervene.

"Nathan—" she started, her voice barely above a whisper.

But before she could finish, Nathan cut her off with a sharp, "Quiet. Don’t distract him."

Serena’s face paled, her heart sinking like a stone.

Was Nathan really going to stand by and watch Dylan suffer like this?

Her nails dug into her palms, frustration and helplessness twisting inside her.

The seconds stretched into an eternity, the air thick with unspoken tension.

Dylan continued drinking in measured gulps, his movements growing slower, more deliberate, until finally—the bottle was empty.

With one last shaky exhale, he turned the bottle upside down, proving he had drained every last drop.

Evelyn’s sharp, delighted applause shattered the silence. "Bravo!" she cheered, clapping her hands with theatrical enthusiasm. "Well done, Mr. Reeves! A man of his word—how refreshing!"

Dylan didn’t respond, his face now a deep, unnatural red.

Those nearby quickly guided him to the sofa, where he collapsed onto the cushions, his vision swimming as the room spun around him.

His stomach churned violently, his throat scorched raw, every breath like inhaling flames.

"Dylan, are you okay?" Serena’s voice trembled, her hands hovering over him, unsure whether to touch him or not.

Dylan managed a weak nod, his voice hoarse. "I’m—"

But before he could finish, his body betrayed him.

A violent spasm wracked his stomach, and with no warning, he doubled over, vomiting violently onto the floor.