Yates' expression grew increasingly cold.

A thought suddenly flashed through my mind.

Could it really be true?

Was it possible that Yates has feelings for Rachel...

What a chaotic situation this is...

I had been so serious in my criticisms earlier...

Feeling a bit guilty, I started drinking the fruit wine on the table.

I have always had a good alcohol tolerance, so I kept drinking one glass after another.

As long as I kept drinking, I wouldn't have to face Yates' questions.

But after a few glasses, I began to faintly sense something was off.

I was actually starting to feel a bit dizzy.

"Molly, I think you've had too much to drink," Yates said with concern.

He seemed genuinely worried, though I couldn't tell if it was just my imagination.

"No... no, my alcohol tolerance... you... you don't know, right... I can drink anyone under the table..."

For some reason, my speech was becoming uncontrolled, my tongue feeling a bit tangled.

"You've had too much. Let me take you home," he said.

"Home? Whose home? Yours? Mine? Hmm... or maybe your place would be better."