Wife chasing Billionaire's Adoration.

Sandra couldn't ignore the obnoxious clack of high heels approaching her. She turned to see a beautiful, elegant woman striding toward her with a storm in her eyes. Was it anger or just her imagination playing tricks?

"Miss, how did you enter this party? Do you have an invitation?" Aliza asked scornfully, her tone dripping with disdain.

Sandra felt a flare of annoyance but kept her expression serene. She was in a den of elites, after all, and needed to tread carefully. Her gaze shifted from the angry woman to the birthday girl herself, Chelly Jean. With a gracious smile, Sandra said, "Miss Jean, I wish you a happy birthday. You look absolutely stunning tonight."

Chelly, pleased with the compliment and grateful that Sandra didn't react to Aliza's childish behavior, responded warmly, "Miss Romualdez, right? I'm so glad to meet you. Your clothing brand's designs are trendy and refreshing, and I appreciate you coming to my party."'

'As expected,' Sandra thought, acknowledging the refined poise of someone raised in elite circles. Chelly's grace was indeed on another level.

"I apologize for Aliza's behavior, Miss Romualdez. I hope you won't take it to heart; she doesn't have any ill intentions," Chelly continued, her voice smooth and conciliatory.

"You're being too kind, Miss Jean," Sandra replied, waving her hands dismissively. She didn't need such a prominent figure apologizing on her behalf.

Meanwhile, Aliza, feeling ignored and seething internally, would have loved nothing more than to put this upstart in her place, if not for her fear of offending Chelly.

A sudden commotion at the entrance of the hall caught everyone's attention, whispers spreading like wildfire. "It's Mr. Fleming, the Chairman of Fleming Corps."

Chelly's heart skipped a beat. He was finally here, and she could set her plan into motion. She scanned the room, locking eyes with the waiter she had commissioned for her scheme, giving him a discreet signal to proceed.

Sandra, feeling a bit tipsy from the evening's drinks, glanced at the stack of business cards she'd collected, satisfaction blooming in her chest. She'd made significant connections tonight, networking with key figures in the business world, and every sip of alcohol felt justified.

Just as she was about to head to the restroom, another group approached, eager to toast with her. Sandra was nearing her limit, the room spinning slightly, but she managed a gentle smile, trying to maintain her composure.

In another corner of the grand hall, a waiter approached Roland, who was deeply engaged in conversation. The waiter offered him a new drink, which Roland accepted without hesitation.

Moments later, after sipping from his third glass, Roland felt something was off. It was too early for him to be this affected by alcohol. He excused himself, heading towards the exit of the event hall.

Chelly, observing from a distance, saw the signs of the drug beginning to take effect. Narrowing her eyes, she prepared to move, but then Aliza, along with her parents, intercepted her, forcing Chelly to engage in unwanted pleasantries with the high-society leaders. Cursing silently, she had no choice but to entertain them before she could slip away. But when she looked towards where Roland had been, he was nowhere to be seen.

Sandra glanced at the clock, realizing it was already eight at night. She couldn't bear to trouble Rayna to come pick her up in her current state. Opting for caution, she made her way to the hotel lobby to book a room, deciding it was far too risky to hail a taxi when she was on the brink of passing out from intoxication. Maintaining a facade of composure and grace, she walked towards the elevator. The moment the doors slid shut, leaving her alone, her strength ebbed away, the drunkenness hitting her like a wave, making her stomach churn with nausea.

Meanwhile, outside the banquet hall, Roland, struggling to keep his mind clear, came to a chilling realization: he had been drugged. "Who has the guts?" he muttered through clenched teeth, anger flaring despite his disorientation. With the last of his strength, he pulled out his phone to call Andreas, his assistant, explaining his dire situation.

Andreas, ever the resourceful aide, quickly booked a room in the hotel for Roland to recuperate. "Boss, head to the elevator. An attendant will be waiting for you with a room card key," he instructed.

Breathing heavily, Roland felt a searing pain and intense heat coursing through his lower body. With painstaking effort, he dragged himself towards the hotel elevator, each step a battle against the effects of the drug.