Chapter 422 Trouble
The woman was flaunting her curves and low-cut top like crazy, hoping to catch Preston's attention. Even a one-night fling with him would've been a dream come true for most women. Being the lover of the Bells' scion was way better than kissing up to some old, rich dude.
But Preston didn’t even feel a spark. His eyes landed on her fawning face. For a second, it changed into Kyla’s gentle smile—the same one he’d adored for years. Kyla…
He almost reached out, longing to touch that familiar, sweet face. “Sir…” The woman noticed his dazed, lovesick expression, and her heart skipped a beat. She thought she’d hit the jackpot. But just as she tried to grab his hand, her face morphed into Tilda’s in his mind. It was a face he hated, the one he wished didn’t exist. And somehow, it stung.
“Get lost!” Preston shook off the flood of emotions and slapped her hard across the face. Her heavy makeup smeared all over. The woman froze, stunned by the slap.
She held her stinging, swollen cheek, staring at Preston in disbelief. “Get out, bitch! You think Mr. Preston would ever fall for your games?” “Many women are trying to get Mr. Preston. You? You’re not even worth shining his shoes, ugly bitch." “Thought he was drunk and you had a chance? Dream on, slut!”
Preston’s lackeys jeered, throwing insult after insult. Humiliated, the woman grabbed her purse and ran off without a word. The scene drew plenty of attention. But since it was the Bells causing the scene, nobody dared to step in.
Tilda watched the whole drunken chaos. She just stared, speechless. Great, she ran into him again. Ugh, terrible luck. She decided to just ignore him.
Preston sobered up slightly. His gaze swept the room and locked on Tilda. “Damn it… Tilda, why are you stuck in my head? Go away!” His face flushed. Preston wiped his mouth, muttering drunken nonsense. No way! I won’t admit it! He was supposed to hate Tilda—nothing but hate. Why couldn’t he forget her? He’d always loved Kyla. Always.
Tonight, Preston was drowning his sorrows at Nightingale Bar. First, it was because of Rebecca. No matter how furious he was with her for embarrassing the family, she was still his little sister. They grew up together. He couldn’t be cold like Ryan and just cut her off. Preston watched Rebecca lying in the hospital, connected to machines and still unconscious, while Daphne pined away with worry. He felt heartbroken.
Second, he couldn’t bring himself to truly hate Tilda. She started all the trouble! But lately, he found himself thinking about her way more than Kyla. That never happened before.
That thought made Preston snap. He thought that if he could punch Tilda, he could erase her from his mind. That bitch must’ve put a spell on me! I’ll kill her! “Mr. Preston!”
Completely wasted, Preston was unpredictable. His lackeys couldn’t stop him. They just watched him storm toward Tilda, his eyes full of rage. “Tilda!”
On stage, Una, half-drunk and singing, jumped in shock. She saw Preston rushing over, but she didn’t recognize him at first. She thought he was just some drunk creep after Tilda. She wanted to jump off the stage and kick him.
Tilda saw him barreling toward her, clearly ready for trouble. She let out a sharp click of her tongue. Shit. Even drunk, he still wanted to cause trouble. The moment she saw Preston, her eyelid already twitched. And he acted as she expected.
She grabbed a bottle from the table and smashed it over his head before he could even react. The place went silent.
Everyone froze. Preston’s lackeys couldn’t believe it. Tilda actually smashed a bottle over Preston’s head in front of everyone! That was impressive!
The blow left Preston dazed. Already drunk, he staggered and tumbled backward. His head throbbed, warm liquid dripping down his scalp. Before he could even think, Tilda grabbed another bottle.
She pressed her foot onto his chest. “Damn! That hurts!” Preston growled, trying to struggle. But with her foot pinning him, he couldn’t move.