The night dragged on, and the more I drank, the more Lydia thought she had me exactly where she wanted me.
But she was wrong.
I wasn’t drunk. I was pretending.
I let my body relax into the couch, my fingers loosely holding the glass in my hand as if I had lost all sense of control. Lydia was watching me closely, waiting for the right moment.
And then, just as I expected, she made her move.
“Oh, Harry,” she sighed, shaking her head with a smirk. “You really can’t handle your drinks, can you?”
She slid closer, gently prying the glass from my fingers before placing it on the table. Then, she helped me lay back against the couch, her hands smoothing over my chest like she was caring for me.
But I knew better.
The moment she thought I was out cold, she went straight for my pocket.
I fe
