The Princess and the Pauper (Arabella)

Chapter 1638

In the private room 11.

Arabella had sealed the deal, cash exchanged for goods with practiced ease.

She slipped the medicine into her backpack and rode the elevator down to the lobby. Horace, spotting her, broke into a relieved

grin.

He'd been worried about the boss's safety going upstairs alone. But there she was, walking out of the room 11 without a scratch.

"Got it?" Horace mouthed, his face a picture of excitement.

The place was a racket, but Arabella caught his drift, nodding and tilting her chin up, signaling it was tto jet.

In the massive birdcage arena, the heavyweight boxer - a brute over 200 pounds - had been mauled by the beast, chunks of his

arm flesh hanging loose. Now, he was being carted away, while the victor was rewarded with a feast of raw meat, retreating

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obediently back into its cage.

Next up was a lopsided match: a muscle-bound fighter tipping the scales at more than 300 pounds versus a kid who looked barely

strong enough to lift a feather.

The kid, no more than five or six, was forced into oversized boxing gloves and shoved into the cage, his wails piercing the din,

reaching Arabella's ears. She glanced over to see him clutching the bars, desperate to escape, as the crowd went wild.

"These people are sick." A twinge of sympathy in Horace's voice as he glanced at the child, "Completely twisted."

"Do you want to see a little one's fight-or-flight kick in when he's pushed to the edge?"

The host was a foreigner whose words bore the meaning after translation.

The crowd roared back, "We do!"

"Place your bets, folks - will it be our fighter, or the kid? Countdown starts now - five, four, three, two, one!"

At the whistle's blast, the fighter picked up the kid like a ragdoll and slammed him to the ground.

The crowd erupted, high on adrenaline. The kid lay there, crying pitifully, calling for his "mommy," too hurt to stand.

"Do you want to see more? Let's see who wants to up the stakes. Who has the highest bet?"

The giant screen flashed with the bet stats: one thousand three hundred and fifty-one bets placed, the highest being thirteen

grand. The host was clearly not satisfied, "Any higher bets? The thrilling moment will begin; are you ready for it?"

"We are!"

"Showthe money!" The host's words had barely left his mouth when the screen flashed a new bet: 1 million, from private room

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A hush fell for a split second, then the place erupted.

"It's Sean! Sean's in with a million!" The host's voice was tinged with glee.

Arabella narrowed her eyes in disdain. Sean? The jerk who was all over swoman upstairs, trying to get lucky? No surprise he

was trash.

"Let's hear your cheers as the next act unfolds," the host was drowned out by the escalating roar of the crowd as the fighter

advanced on the kid.

Horace turned, only to find Arabella had vanished.

The fighter lifted the child high, parading him around the arena like a trophy, the audience's cheers shaking the very walls.