Chapter 15
Night pressed heavily over the city. Daniel Reed stumbled through the door reeking of alcohol, the empty apartment only stoking the frustration and rage that grew like wildfire inside him.
The scene he had witnessed that afternoon at the Whitmore Group subsidiary was like a splinter under his skin.
Claire Whitmore walking alongside Henry Collins with that calm, assured composure… the natural ease with which she stepped into that Bentley…
Each image became sharper, harsher under the burn of liquor.”
“Claire Whitmore… you…” He snatched up the bottle and took a long pull, the sharp bite searing his throat but doing nothing to quench the anger–or the bitter, inexplicable ache–inside him. “Of course… you’ve climbed your way up… Henry Collins? Hah… you’d do anything to rise higher, wouldn’t you?”
But as he cursed, other memories intruded against his will:
Her face when she’d fallen asleep over the table after a night of fixing his proposal; the warmth in her eyes as she handed him a mug of heated milk; the light in them when she held their daughter, Emma.
Those moments seeped into him like warm water, softening the jagged edges of his fury and leaving an ache in its place. “You’re the one who left first… You’re the one who wronged me…” he muttered, gripping the bottle so tightly his knuckles whitened. “So why do you get to live so well now? Why…?”
The slammed door at the subsidiary, his own poisonous suspicions about Claire, the collapsing cash flow of his company- all of it churned under the influence of alcohol until he suddenly hurled the bottle to the floor. Glass shattered, scattering sharp fragments across the room.
“Claire Whitmore… you bitch…” he slurred, staggering toward the bedroom. “You think climbing up gives you the right to leave me? I’ll show you, I won’t lose…”
The bedroom door stood ajar, warm lamplight spilling into the hallway. Sophie Lane, in a silk nightdress, sat on the edge of the bed painting her nails. At the sound of him, she looked over, distaste flickering in her eyes before she smoothed it away, replacing it with a syrupy smile.
“Dan, you’re back? You’ve been drinking so much?”
Daniel lifted his head. The liquor made his vision blur, and the woman before him–light–colored dress, hair spilling over her shoulders–seemed, in the haze of the lamplight, to merge with another face in his memory.”
Claire… she’d come back?}
Heat surged in his chest, a tangled mess of anger, jealousy, and that stubborn yearning he refused to name. It swamped what little reason he had left. He lurched forward, grabbing Sophie and pinning her against the headboard, hard enough to make her cry out in pain.
“You’re back… you finally came back…” He buried his face against her neck, his breath thick with alcohol, his voice breaking with both grievance and a desperate clinging to the past. “I knew you wouldn’t really leave… You’re mad at me, aren’t you? Mad I didn’t take care of you, mad I took your hospital room… I know I was wrong, Claire, just don’t leave me again..“} Sophie winced at his crushing hold, ready to push him away–until she heard the name he kept calling. Claire.
A flicker of venom flashed in her eyes, quickly smothered. She slid her arms around his neck, her voice softening into a saccharine imitation of Claire’s former gentleness.
“Dan, I never left. I’m right here…”
She smothered her hatred under a practiced tenderness, stroking his cheek with a feigned delicacy. “Stop drinking… it’s bad for you…“!
Her compliance worked like a drug, pulling Daniel deeper into the drunken illusion. He kissed her with an urgent, clumsy hunger, as though grasping something lost and longed for, pouring every drop of his resentment, unwillingness, and lingering love into the embrace–murmuring incoherently against her lips, “Don’t leave again… I can’t lose you…”
