His Wife Calls The Shots
Chapter 1105 Winner_1

Chapter 1105: Chapter 1105 Winner_1

Chapter 1105

"A classmates gathering, it wouldn’t be very appropriate for me to ruin it," he said, sitting still as a mountain.

Charles Carrington sneered coldly, pointing the selfie camera of his phone at Alexander Foster’s face: "Look at your expression. I bet you wish you could teleport."

With that, he stood up. "Let’s go. I’ll take you."

Alexander Foster glanced at him slightly: "You will accompany me?"

His dark gaze as sharp as a knife, silently observing him.

Charles glanced at his cup: "You’ve been drinking? I’m worried something might happen to you. I will accompany you."

"It’s water."

His eyes seemed to examine Charles while his thin lips curved in a small smile: "My things, why are you so concerned?"

Charles threw his clothes aside and sat back down: "You’re overthinking it. What could I possibly worry about?"

His hand instinctively reached for a cigarette. Suddenly remembering that Alexander hated the smell of smoke, he abandoned the idea and threw it back.

Resting his head against the couch, he was silent for several seconds before he spoke up: "Really not going?"

Alexander continued to look at his phone, seemingly too lazy to engage with him.

Charles turned his head, burying his face into the couch cushion before mumbling: "Wake me up when you leave."

On the other side.

Since Manie York started the direct confrontation with a bottle of alcohol, people from the three classes gathered around to watch the spectacle.

Chloe Collins still sat at the head of the table. Regardless of how the others were playing, she remained as steady as a mountain, leisurely and undisturbed holding her bottle and enjoying the burn of the strong alcohol.

Later, the people from Class 2 brought out a cake, turning it into a prop for a game. The game was simple: drink a cup of alcohol, throw a dart, and the person furthest from the bullseye gets a face full of cream.

Two hours later, the scene had grown much more peaceful. The red bullseye at the center of the dartboard now had a small hole in it from all the darts, and there were fewer darts around it. Blue darts were scattered, but not a single red arrow was seen.

About a hundred boys were sprawled out, almost all with flushed faces. They looked up at the sky with hazy eyes, their breaths reeking of alcohol.

The camera slowly moved towards the long table. The dishes were in complete disarray, almost all of them having toppled over, an apple that had been bitten into a heart shape sat to one side, its oxidation turning it rusty. Cups of different sizes were lying around, some still dripping with alcohol. At last, the camera focused on a slim hand holding a shaking wine glass and then lifting it, red lips touching the rim before drinking up the alcohol.

Chloe Collins’ face was clean, no traces of cream could be seen. She cast a glance at the people fast asleep around her, a hint of boredom evident in her gaze. She leaned back slightly, eyeing the woman next to her.

Manie York was totally sprawled across the table, her face covered in cream. The hand drooping off the side of the table clutching a blue dart, its blue feathers fluttering in the breeze.

On either side of her, two boys lay collapsed, their faces coated in cream, long since passed out.

The corners of her lips turned slightly. Her hand slowly reached for the bottle to pour a drink when suddenly, she caught a familiar faint fragrance that was distinct from the smell of alcohol.

Someone was slowly approaching.

From down the terrace steps.

Layla Lowell was leading the way, Alexander Foster following behind her.

She didn’t expect that it would take this man two hours to show up after the message had been sent out.

She had hoped that a bunch of guys could stir him up, but had not expected him to arrive so late.

It was unlike his usual style.

"Here," she said,"we’ve arrived. It’s over there. Eh? Are they all drunk?"

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