?Chapter 1287:


    When he arrived, Bleacher’s sharp gaze locked onto Corrine at the gambling table. Several men in dark suitsy sprawled on the floor, clutching their stomachs, faces twisted in pain, their moans swallowed by the heavy atmosphere.


    The scene was ruthless.


    Bleacher scoffed, disbeliefcing his tone. “Of all people, they picked a fight with her?” His eyes flicked to the men standing idly nearby, irritation sparking beneath his calm exterior. “Well? What are you waiting for? Get them out of here!”


    As his orders were swiftly carried out, he smoothed his expression and turned toward Corrine, his demeanor shifting. “Miss Hond,” he murmured, voice softer, almost reverent. “Forgive me for not weing you properly upon your arrival.”


    Behind him, his men exchanged stunned nces.


    Bleacher was known as Jonathan’s most trusted aide, a man who showed unwavering respect to no one but his boss. Yet here he was, extending that same deference to a woman. It was unheard of.


    Corrine lifted her gaze, her icy stare unwavering. “Where is your boss? Take me to him.”


    Bleacher hesitated briefly before replying, “My boss is in a meeting. Miss Hond, please follow me to the reception room while you wait.”


    Without another word, Corrine hopped off the table, tilting her chin slightly — a silentmand of her own. “Lead the way.”


    She carried herself with a cold, unshakable arrogance, the kind that made her both mesmerizing and untouchable. A thorny white rose — beautiful, yet armed with a sting.


    Bleacher could not help but draw theparison. She carried the same unyielding presence as his boss.


    Escorting her to the reception room, he turned on his heel and strode toward Jonathan’s office.


    This time, he chose his approach wisely.


    Without preamble, he showed a photograph of Corrine on his phone to Jonathan.


    Jonathan’s sharp gazended on the image, and for a fleeting moment, an unfamiliar softness flickered in his eyes. “Where is she?”


    “In the reception room,” Bleacher answered.


    Jonathan returned the phone to him. “Make sure she is well taken care of.”


    Bleacher nodded. “Understood.”


    He ryed the message word for word to his subordinates before heading to the surveince room.


    But his subordinates interpreted themand differently.


    They had always understood “extra care” to mean something else entirely.


    The moment Bleacher left, the men in dark suits closed in around Corrine, their gazes brimming with a hunger that had nothing to do with business.


    They had seen countless faces in this casino, but none quite like hers. She was rare, a presence that demanded attention—whether she wanted it or not. Their stares turned brazen, their interest smoldering beneath thinly veiled smirks. Like lone prey caught in the eyes of hungry wolves.


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