I am doomed.
Anna tossed back the whiskey like it was nothing more than water, the burn in her throat barely registering. She set the empty glass down with a dull clink and gestured for another.
The bartender shot her a disapproving glance but said nothing. With practiced indifference, he reached for a fresh glass, filling it with amber liquid that shimmered under the dim glow of the bar's overhead lamps.
Anna wrapped her fingers around the drink, but this time, she didn't rush to down it. The first glass had been to ignite a fire in her stomach, to chase away the bone-deep chill and help her loosen up. The rest? They were meant to be savored.
What else was left for her to enjoy, anyway?
How did it come to this?
She slumped over the bar, the weight of exhaustion pulling her down. Her clothes were still damp from the rain, clinging to her skin like a second layer of misery. She had no idea how she'd ended up in this bar, wandering through the city streets like a ghost—but at least she had found it.
At least here, she could forget.
Anna had been drinking for years. Ever since her father died, the only true companion she had left was the comfort of a liquor bottle. It was the only thing that never abandoned her, never lied to her, never made promises it couldn't keep.
Unlike Robert.
She had been such a fool.
She had truly believed—despite the cruelty, the neglect, the humiliation—that what they had would last. That somehow, someway, Robert would remember the love he once held for her, and it would be enough. That one day, he would look at her and see not an obligation, not a burden, but a wife.
A family.
What a pathetic dream that had been.
"I want a real marriage."
Robert's voice echoed in her mind, over and over, each repetition slicing through her heart like a dull blade.
Why couldn't she be the one? Why couldn't their marriage be real? What had she done wrong? What more could she have given to make him love her?
There were no answers.
Now that she had lost everything, she finally understood—no matter how much you gave, sometimes, it would never be enough.
"Miss?"
Anna blinked groggily, peeling her heavy head from the bar's smooth, sticky surface.
"Ugh…"
"Miss?" The voice came again, firmer this time. A hand shook her shoulder, jolting her further out of her daze. Blinking up, she realized it was the bartender staring down at her with growing impatience.
"The bar is closing soon," he said. "You need to wake up."
Anna groaned, rubbing at her stinging, swollen eyes. The dull, pounding ache in her skull was relentless, as if someone were hammering away at the inside of her head.
When was the last time she had a hangover this bad?
"Ugh… how much did I drink?" she muttered, her voice hoarse.
"Twelve glasses," the bartender replied flatly, sliding her bill across the worn wooden counter. "I need to close out the register, so please settle your tab."
"Of course," she murmured, fumbling for her purse—only now realizing she had been using it as a pillow when she passed out.
Anna reached for her wallet, but the moment she opened it, a cold chill rippled down her spine, cutting through the haze of alcohol.
I don't have enough money…
When she was thrown out of the Hyde residence, she hadn't even thought to check how much cash she had. In her frantic escape, she had grabbed the first purse she could pull from her suitcase, assuming—hoping—she'd be back home soon. She had already spent a portion on the cab fare, still clinging to the belief that she wouldn't end up here—drunk, stranded, and nearly penniless.
There's barely enough to cover half the bill… but what about the rest? My credit cards are probably frozen, right?
"Is there a problem?" The bartender's voice was edged with impatience, his irritation soaring with every passing second.
Anna swallowed her embarrassment and forced a calm expression. She couldn't afford to lash out or draw any more attention to herself.
"Uh…" She cleared her throat. "Could you check this credit card, please?"
The bartender took the card and pressed it against the portable terminal. A second later, the sharp beep of rejection sounded.
"Declined," he said flatly, tossing the card onto the bar.
Damn. Anna's fingers curled around the useless piece of plastic, her hands trembling. Mortification burned through her veins. What do I do now? God, why did I drink so much?
"So?" The bartender folded his arms, eyes narrowing. "How are you planning to pay?"
Before she could answer, a smooth, measured voice cut through the tension.
"I'll cover it."
A black credit card slid across the wooden surface.
The bartender hesitated for a moment before reaching for the card, while Anna's eyes widened in shock.
There he was—tall, tanned, effortlessly striking. His dark brown eyes locked onto her flustered face, scrutinizing her as if committing every detail to memory. His gaze was powerful, almost suffocating in its intensity, making her feel exposed, as though he could see straight through her.
"William Stark," she murmured, barely audible over the pounding of her own heart.
He didn't respond. He only stared, his expression unreadable as his eyes roamed over her disheveled state. Shame burned through her, but before she could process it, the moment passed.
"Thank you, sir," the bartender said, noticeably more chipper as he returned the card.
William gave a curt nod, slipping the card into the pocket of his vest. Without another word, he turned on his heel, heading for the door.
Anna nearly lurched off the barstool, gripping the counter to steady herself. "Thank you!" she blurted out, her voice louder than intended.
But he didn't stop. He didn't even look back.
She stood frozen, watching as his tall, powerful frame disappeared beyond the door, leaving her with nothing but the ghost of his piercing gaze.
He's back?
The thought pulsed through her, refusing to fade, as William's dark eyes burned into her mind's eye once more.