Chapter 118 Weak ones

RIANA

“What?”

Bran’s words repeat in my head. His face is so close I can smell the sharp whiff of alcohol on his breath. I shift back, almost whimpering as the table presses into my spine.

“You heard me,” he whispers.

“You’re… drunk, Mr. Bran.”

“Am I?”

Tingles travel up my neck as his soft lip...

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