When she first accompanied Rodrick to attend a business dinner, they had met a particularly difficult client who in- sisted that Rodrick drink, saying only then would he consider signing the contract.
But Rodrick was allergic to alcohol.
She had stepped up to drink for him.
It was her first time drinking, and she downed it in one go, coughing violently.
Thinking about how rare the opportunity was, she had forced it down anyway.
It was the first project she had secured for him.
He had called her the pillar of Royarch Capital, saying he’d share the glory with her when they succeed.
Foolishly buying the future he had fed her, she took every toast, not giving anyone a chance to persuade him to drink.
That was how she built up her alcohol tolerance.
Little did she know that, one day, the armor she had worn for him would fall apart completely as he belittled her and
sided with his first love.
It took her seven years to realize the terrible mistake she had made. The pain was brutal, but it also made her see things clearly.
When she left Celestia Club, it was raining.
It was late autumn, and rain always came so suddenly.
Her stomachache was still killing her, and her face was ghastly pale.
Just as she took out her phone to get a cab, Rodrick’s driver, Wilbur Dittman, saw her and trotted over.
“Ms. Harrington, is the party over? Where’s Mr. Livingston? Why isn’t he with you?”
“Not yet. It’ll still gonna be a while.” Even her voice sounded so weak.
The atmosphere was in full swing, and Rodrick was probably enjoying being with Bianca. She didn’t think the party would end anytime soon.
Wilbur glanced inside before looking back at Britney. Noticing her pale face, he proposed, “Ms. Harrington, how about I drive you back first? It’s late and raining. How are you gonna get a cab?”
Britney didn’t turn him down. She was genuinely feeling so unwell.
However, on the way, Rodrick called Wilbur, asking him where he was.
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Chapter 7
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Wilbur said truthfully, “Ms. Harrington isn’t feeling well. I thought the party wouldn’t be finishing up soon, so I of- fered to give her a ride.”
The driver had put Rodrick on speaker, and his voice echoed in the car, sounding particularly cold. “Who do you work for? Me or her?”
Terrified, Wilbur shuddered. “Mr. Livingston, I’ll be right back to pick you up.”
Before Rodrick hung up, Britney heard his voice again, the earlier indifference it carried already replaced by gentle-
ness.
“The car will be here soon. Go back inside to wait. It’s cold out here.”
Bianca said, equally gently, “Wait together with me, will you, Rod?”
Britney didn’t get to hear Rodrick’s answer because the call was cut off.
Wilbur seemed torn.
Noticing this, Britney said, “Wilbur, you can just drop me here. I’ll get a cab.”
But they were in the middle of nowhere. Let alone a cab, there wasn’t even a place to shelter from the rain.
Feeling a bit guilty, Wilbur gave her an umbrella before she got out.
Perhaps her streak of bad luck had ended for the night. Soon, she spotted a taxi approaching.
Still, she ended up with a fever the next day.
She was already weak after the miscarriage, and her stomach condition kept flaring up. Her immune system was weaker than ever.
But she had a meeting with Phillip Ruiz from the Ruiz Group today. It was about the project Rodrick had chewed her out over in the meeting that day.
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Chapter 8
