Real Heiress: Flash Marriage With Boyfriend's Uncle - Chapter 165

Chapter 165: I feel strange…

Chapter 165: I feel strange…

“Hey, Rick!” Roger called out, his voice cutting through the lively chatter of the bar.

Roderick, seated with his usual crowd, raised an eyebrow in response.

With a sigh, he excused himself and strode over to Roger.

“What do you want?

Did my uncle send you here?” Roderick asked, his tone laced with impatience.

Roger shook his head.

“No.

The boss doesn’t even know I’m here.

Listen, send Sylvia home.

Make sure she gets there safely,” he said, nodding toward a corner where Sylvia sat slouched on a couch, her eyes closed.

Roderick let out a derisive snicker.

“What do I look like, her chauffeur?

Do it yourself,” he shot back, turning on his heel to rejoin his friends.

Roger rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath.

Of course, it was up to him.

Why did his conscience always compel him to look out for the very people he disliked the most?

Glancing back at Sylvia, he saw her shift slightly, looking as if she might pass out.

With a resigned sigh, he approached her.

“Sylvia, let’s get you home,” he said gently, leaning down.

Her eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused.

“You’re bothering me,” she murmured, attempting to brush him off.

But as she rose unsteadily to her feet, her balance wavered.

Instinctively, she gripped Roger’s arm for support.

“Yeah, yeah,” Roger muttered, wrapping a steadying arm around her.

“Let’s go before you pass out here.” He guided her out of the bar, vowing to himself that this would be the last time he played this babysitter role.

He cursed himself for coming to this bar.

Roger flagged down a taxi and opened the door for Sylvia, helping her sit down first before climbing in after her.

He gave the driver the address, and the car pulled away, the streetlights flashing by in a blur.

Sylvia slouched against the door on her side, her posture limp and unsteady.

The driver, noticing, called out, “Sit up straight, miss.” When Sylvia didn’t respond, Roger pulled her back gently, guiding her to sit upright.

“Come on, sit up,” he said, his tone a bit firmer now.

“Don’t touch me,” Sylvia murmured weakly, her voice barely audible.

She winced and pressed a hand to her forehead.

“My head…

hurts so bad.

I don’t know what that bastard gave me.” Roger glanced at her while knitting her brows together.

Sylvia, despite her tendency to party hard and drink with her friends, usually had a high tolerance for alcohol.

He’d seen her down shots and still hold her own, rarely showing signs of being affected.

But now…

she seemed different.

Her slurred words, her wavering posture-it wasn’t just alcohol.

His thoughts immediately went to the possibility that someone had spiked her drink.

The guy from earlier?

Or someone else entirely, someone he hadn’t noticed?

He glanced at Sylvia again.

Could she have been targeted?

And if so, why?

‘I’m overthinking,’ Roger muttered to himself, trying to dismiss the nagging feeling in the back of his mind.

‘In a bar, it’s not unusual for drinks to be spiked,’ he reasoned.

For now, he just wanted to get this over with-get Sylvia home, and move on.

The taxi finally pulled up to her residential complex, and Roger helped Sylvia out, steadying her as she wobbled on unsteady feet.

He wrapped a firm hand around her arm, guiding her toward the entrance after paying for the ride.

Together, they entered the building and stepped into the elevator.

Sylvia leaned heavily against him, her head lolling to the side as the doors slid shut.

“Which floor?” he asked.

“15th,” she replied.

Roger sighed as he pressed the number on the panel and watched the numbers rise as they made their way up.

It felt like the slowest journey of his life, but at least they were close to the end.

He could get her inside, make sure she was safe, and finally leave this frustrating mess behind.

The elevator doors slid open on the 15th floor, and Roger gently guided Sylvia out into the hallway.

“Which one’s your apartment?” he asked.

Sylvia glanced up at him, her cheeks flushed with a mix of irritation and something else he couldn’t quite place.

“I thought you were stalking me,” she muttered.

Roger exhaled in frustration.

“How many times do I have to tell you?

I never stalked you,” he snapped, his patience thinning.

“Just hurry up, because I’m getting late.” Sylvia let out a soft sigh, a faint flicker of vulnerability in her expression.

“1503,” she answered, holding onto his arm with an almost desperate grip.

Roger nodded, relieved that she was at least giving him clear directions now.

He could see her swaying slightly as if she might collapse at any moment.

“I feel strange…

I want to lie down,” she said in a weak voice.

Roger’s brows furrowed as he dragged Sylvia toward apartment 1503.

“Enter the password,” he said, his tone more focused on getting her inside than on any other thoughts.

Sylvia, barely looking up, mumbled, “You should insert it.

It’s my birthday.” Roger arched an eyebrow, confused.

“And what’s that got to do with anything?” Sylvia sighed and, without any further comment, punched in the code herself.

The door clicked open, and she staggered inside, Roger reluctantly following her.

“Be careful,” Roger said, his voice laced with concern as Sylvia made her way toward her bedroom without a second thought.

Once inside, Sylvia quickly began to peel off her jacket, followed by her top.

Roger’s eyes widened, and without thinking, he turned around instantly, his face flushing with discomfort.

“I’m leaving,” he muttered urgently, and within seconds, he bolted out of the apartment.

As the door clicked shut behind him, Roger leaned against it, trying to calm the rush of thoughts that flooded his mind.

‘Is she like that in front of other men too?’ he wondered, running a hand through his hair.

But then, something nagged at him.

‘But I didn’t see anything…

I promise myself I won’t ever help her.

Roger, you better not cross a path with her again.’ With that, Roger left for his home.