Horse Girl, Your Friend is Fighting Her Way Out of the Horse Racing Track

"Okay, wait for me for twenty minutes."

The phone hangs up.

Poetry and Wine put his phone back in his pocket, leaned back in his chair, and looked up at the silver-white ceiling of the terminal building.

The rain was still falling outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, a fine, dense rain that dampened the floor of the waiting area.

The three giants appeared near the service desk in the T2 arrival hall more than 20 minutes later.

She had clearly jogged over; her braids were a little messy, and the zipper on her coat was not zipped up properly. Her emerald green eyes scanned the crowd, precisely locking onto Poetry and Wine, who were sitting against the wall, before she strode over.

"Found it! Found it!"

She paused before the poetry and wine, glancing down at them.

"Is he alright?"

"fine."

Poetry and Wine stood up, picking up their backpacks with a look of regret on their faces.

"The luggage is gone."

"We can buy more luggage,"

The three leaders simply waved their hands and turned around to lead the way.

"Let's go to the hotel first."

"Are you ready?"

"I'm not in a hurry to go to France."

Poetry and Wine paused for a moment, then followed her steps.

"...I'm sorry to have kept you in the way."

"It's fine."

The three leaders didn't turn around, speaking casually.

"Besides, I was really bored anyway, and I had something to do when you called."

The drivers of the three bigwigs were already waiting outside the airport.

It was a legitimate business vehicle, and the driver was in uniform. Upon seeing the three leaders, he immediately got out of the car and opened the back door, demonstrating professionalism throughout.

The car drove away from the airport and merged into the nighttime traffic.

Poetry and wine lean against the car window, looking at the unfamiliar night view outside.

What does it feel like to be scammed?

The three giants suddenly spoke up, their tone curious.

"I'm angry."

Poetry and wine answer truthfully.

"and then?"

"Then I really wanted to smash things."

The three giants burst out laughing.

"honest."

Interlude: Chapter 391, is that right?

"I should have practiced my English better before coming."

Poetry and wine turned their faces back to the window.

"This scam has little to do with how well you speak English,"

The three giants shook their heads.

"Those kinds of people specifically target tourists; they're very skilled, and only locals won't fall for it."

Poetry and wine did not answer, but simply hummed in response.

We arrived at the hotel quickly.

The car stopped in front of a luxury hotel with a beige sandstone facade. Warm yellow light shone from the revolving door, and the doorman, dressed in a meticulous uniform, opened an umbrella for them in the rain.

The three leaders strode into the lobby, walked confidently to the front desk, gave their names in fluent English, and then turned to say something to Poetry and Wine.

"Wait a moment, let me check if there are any vacancies."

Poetry and Wine stood still, surveying the lobby.

The room features marble floors, a classically designed crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling, several oil paintings displayed on the walls, a deep burgundy leather sofa, and a grand piano with a light on in the corner.

It remains luxurious.

The sounds of negotiation at the front desk drifted over intermittently; Poetry and Wine didn't hear everything clearly, only catching a few words.

"available", "fully booked", "tonight".

'Are there no rooms left...?'

Poetry and wine gave him a bit of a headache.

At this moment, the three giants turned around and walked back, their emerald green eyes filled with a cunning look.

"The room is fully booked tonight."

She helplessly spread her hands.

"Several restaurants of similar quality nearby are also full. There's some kind of exhibition going on recently, so there are a lot of tourists."

"...Then I'll find a regular one first—"

"Need not,"

The three interrupted her, and she naturally turned towards the elevator.

"My room is very big, it's not like I have nowhere to sleep."

Poetry and wine stood still, hesitating for a long time without moving.

"what happened?"

The three giants turned around, their emerald green eyes filled with doubt as they looked at Poetry and Wine.

"...Live together?"

"Correct."

The three leaders looked completely at ease, and she said it as a matter of course.

"My room is a suite with two bedrooms, each with its own. Is that a problem?"

"Oh, this...isn't that a bit inappropriate? We've only just met."

Poetry and wine said with a hint of helplessness.

"No problem, we French people are all so warm and welcoming."

The three leaders walked over with smiles, took Poetry and Wine by the hand, and led her away.

Poetry and wine left no time for contemplation; they could only lift their feet and follow the three giants.

She gripped the strap of her backpack tightly, as if afraid someone would take it away.

The suite is on the twelfth floor of the hotel.

Pushing open the door reveals a spacious living room with floor-to-ceiling windows facing the London night skyline, where the silhouette of Big Ben glows hazily in the rain and mist.

The interior furnishings are in a warm-toned, classic style, with an artificial flame burning in the fireplace, making the whole room cozy and inviting.

At the end of the corridor on the left are two bedroom doors side by side.

"That room is for you."

The three pointed to the side by the window and casually hung their coats on the coat rack by the door.

"There should be basic toiletries in the bathroom. We'll go to the mall tomorrow to get some more things from your luggage."

"Thank you for your help."

"It's fine."

The three leaders waved their hands and headed towards their respective bedrooms. They paused at the door and turned back.

"Are you hungry? You can order room service."

I pondered the choice between poetry and wine.

"No need, thank you."

"Okay, get some rest, goodnight."

"Good night."

The bedroom doors closed on either side.

The bedroom assigned to Poetry and Wine had a pure white bed, a thick and fluffy quilt, three pillows stacked on top of each other, and a uniquely designed lamp on the bedside table, emitting a soft, warm glow.

Poetry and Wine, carrying a backpack, stood in the room for a few seconds, surveying the entire space.

Then she went into the bathroom, turned on the hot water, and buried her face in the hot water she cupped in her hands.

The water was so hot that it made my ears and cheeks turn red.

'...'

She looked up and saw her somewhat disheveled face in the mirror.

Something feels off.

I had only been in the UK for three hours when my luggage was lost and I had nowhere to stay. Eventually, someone picked me up and took me to a hotel. Now I'm staying in a suite with a foreign woman I've known for less than fifteen hours.

The course of events was completely different from any version she had envisioned before setting off.

Poetry and Wine pulled the towel off the rack and forcefully covered their faces, burying all their expressions in the soft fabric.

I've been feeling stifled for a long time.

Then she peeked out from behind the towel and looked in the mirror again.

Why did I, in a moment of madness, agree to stay in a suite?

But being in an unfamiliar place and unable to find any other place, I subconsciously trusted a horse girl who seemed very capable... There shouldn't be any problem, right?

Poetry and Wine pressed the towel back onto their faces forcefully.

'It's nothing serious.'

'It's just a little...'

'never mind.'

She folded the towel and put it back on the shelf, trying to maintain a calm expression as she walked out of the bathroom. She sat down on the large bed covered with pure white sheets and took out her phone from her backpack.

The screen lights up.

No one has messaged me; I wonder if there's something wrong with the phone card I bought.

Poetry and Wine turned the phone over and placed it on the bedside table.

Outside the window, the rain has gradually stopped.

Poetry and wine lay down on their side, pulling the blanket up to their shoulders, gazing at the unfamiliar night view in the distance.

A sliver of orange light from the artificial flames of the fireplace seeped in through the crack in the door from the living room.

'I'm starting to regret coming to England.'

Poetry and wine lingered in my mind with a touch of melancholy, and then I closed my eyes.

The bed was much more comfortable than she had expected.

She pulled the blanket up higher and buried her face completely in the pillow.

……