Chapter 10
Chapter 10
Half a bottle of liquor had completely clouded Chelsea’s mind. The ringing phone in her ear felt like a distant, echoing call, but she couldn’t concentrate long enough to answer.
She barely managed to hold herself upright, finishing off the last of the bottle in one go. A flush spread across her face, and she felt so weak that standing was a struggle.
“I’m done,” she slurred, her words barely understandable.
The alcohol burned like wildfire in her stomach, and she covered her mouth in pain, stumbling out of the private room.
Stewart smirked, amusement flickering in his eyes as he thought to himself, “This girl’s got some nerve.
*****
Cecil quickly noticed Chelsea’s departure. He signaled his secretary to follow her, just in case anything went wrong.
“Winston, you there?” he said into the phone, but the line was dead silent.
Winston thought he heard Chelsea’s voice faintly in the background, but then quickly shook off the idea. There was no reason for her to be involved with Cecil.
“I remember you have a nice emerald sculpture, right?” Cecil asked casually.
“Are you giving it to someone?” Winston asked, intrigued.
Cecil replied nonchalantly, “My grandma’s coming over this weekend. Send it to me, and have Fabian sort out the check.”
Though he tried to keep his marriage under wraps, Muriel found out and insisted on coming to visit. He had no choice but to agree.
Winston heard some background noise and figured Cecil was busy with some socializing. He wrapped up the call and hung
- up.
Cecil hung up, then turned to Stewart Robinson with sharp eyes. “Mr. Robinson, let’s sign the contract.”
The deal was nearly done; Stewart was just trying to make things harder for Chelsea. After all, the Moody family wasn’t someone they could afford to piss off.
Once the contract was signed, Cecil stood up, preparing to leave.
His secretary was waiting anxiously outside the restroom. “Ms. Wise still hasn’t come out.”
Stewart’s behavior was obviously deliberate. If Chelsea really had an issue from drinking too much, they sure as hell weren’t prepared to take the fall.
Cecil handed the documents to his secretary, then decided to check on Chelsea himself. It’d be a real shame if she drank herself into trouble. Plus, he couldn’t deny her looks had caught his attention.
Chelsea staggered out of the restroom, red rashes covering her body, her eyes glistening with tears–clearly, she’d been crying.
Cecil cursed under his breath, “You’re allergic to alcohol, and you still drink like a maniac?”
“This girl is clearly asking for trouble,’ he thought.
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5:17 pm G DDD
Chapter 10
Chelsea shoved his hand away, leaning against the wall, her stomach tightening painfully. “I closed the deal. My design–you have to use it, she gasped, her voice strained.
Cecil rolled his eyes, clearly pissed off. “Are you out of your damn mind? Drinking yourself stupid over a contract?”
He was a crazy bastard, and so was she.
Chelsea fixed him with a soft, tear–filled gaze. “The design.”
“Fine, fine, I’ll sign it! But you’re seriously out of your fucking mind,” Cecil finally gave in, exasperated.
He had no idea she was allergic to alcohol and had been so reckless with it.
“What the hell are you standing there for? Help her into the car and get her home!” Cecil barked at his secretary.
The secretary quickly helped Chelsea out of the room, and once she was in the car, the stench of alcohol was overwhelming. Cecil, who had a major issue with smells, held his nose as he got in.
After Chelsea threw up, she seemed a little better. She lay back on the seat, breathing evenly. Her skin, once soft and smooth, was now covered in red rashes, looking almost grotesque.
Cecil frowned in disgust. “Goddamn it, if I’d known she was allergic, I wouldn’t have let her drink that much.”
When they pulled up to Chelsea’s apartment complex, she stumbled out of the car.
“Mr. Watts, thank you,” she mumbled, still a little out of it.
The secretary was still worried, but Cecil, already fed up, called out impatiently, “Let’s go, it reeks in here!”
Getting her home was the only detent thing he was willing to do. As far as he was concerned, their interaction was over.
The black car slowly pulled away, driving off into the night.
Chelsea leaned on the railing as she trudged up the stairs, her steps slow and sluggish, as if she couldn’t be bothered to hurry.
By the time she hit the fifth floor, every inch of her body itched like crazy, the red rashes on her skin burning and stinging like needles.
Her hands shook as she fumbled through her bag for her keys, finally managing to unlock the door.
“You’re back?” Winston’s voice held both surprise and annoyance. He hadn’t expected Chelsea to return so late, and definitely not smelling like a bar.
His brows knitted together. “How much did you drink this time?” he asked, remembering their first meeting when she’d been just as wasted, barely conscious.
Chelsea slumped against the doorframe, struggling to keep her eyes open. “Mr. Moody…” she mumbled, but her words trailed off as she swayed.
Before Winston could react, she collapsed to the floor, hitting it with a thud. “Ow, that hurts…”
Winston didn’t say a word–just quickly stepped over and helped her up. He shut the door behind them and guided her to
the couch.
His eyes landed on the red rashes on her neck, and his frown deepened. This wasn’t just alcohol; something else was off.
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5:17 pm G D D D
Chapter 10
Once she was settled on the couch, he quickly went into the kitchen, coming back with a glass of hot water.
But when he returned, Chelsea was already out cold, sprawled on the couch, her skin flushed and slightly pink, her brow furrowed in pain. She pressed a hand lightly against her stomach, breathing unevenly.
Winston crouched down and lightly tapped her cheek. “Chelsea, wake up. Drink the water.”
No response. Sighing, he nudged her again.
“Winston, you’re back! Mmm…” Chelsea suddenly shot awake, instinctively wrapping her arms around his waist. Before he could react, she puked all over him.
“Chelsea!” Winston growled, veins popping at his temples. She threw up on him. He had serious cleanliness issues.
Once she finished, Chelsea seemed to feel a little better and dropped back into a deep sleep.
Winston, seething, took off the soiled clothes and headed straight for the bathroom. He showered three times, scrubbing every last trace of the smell off, before stepping but.
The living room, on the other hand, was a disaster zone.
With all the patience he could muster, Winston cleaned up the mess, then took another quick shower for good measure.
Chelsea, meanwhile, was asleep like an angel, occasionally muttering in her sleep, smacking her lips every so often. The sounds were driving him up the wall.
Back in his room, Winston shut his eyes, but Chelsea’s bright, starry eyes kept popping into his mind, like some kind of curse. He couldn’t get rid of the damn image.
*****
Chelsea slowly pushed herself up, feeling like her body had been taken apart and put back together again.
Her clothes hadn’t changed, and the smell of alcohol mixed with something unpleasant clung to her.
She managed to stand, eyes landing on the lemonade on the table. She figured it was from Winston.
The smell of booze was unbearable, and she grimaced before heading back to her room to grab clean clothes and went to the bathroom.
After showering, she noticed Winston’s shirt in the laundry basket, along with the telltale signs of vomit on it.
Chelsea froze. Bits and pieces of last night came rushing back, and she suddenly remembered that she had thrown up on
him.
‘Oh god, how mortifying, she thought. ‘Well, I’ve officially hit rock bottom.”
Once her humiliation simmered down, Chelsea stepped out of the bathroom and nearly bumped right into Winston’s cool, handsome face. She managed a weak smile. “Winston, I really lost my composure last night. I’m sorry.”
Winston’s face was like stone. His voice was cold and sharp. “If this happens again, don’t bother coming back.”
In less than a month of knowing each other, she’d already been drunk twice. It was insane.
Chelsea, fully aware that she was in the wrong, glanced at the time and threw out an idea. “It’s still early. How about I make breakfast? Consider it a thank–you for taking care of me… and an apology?”
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5:17 pm
Chapter 10
Winston thought for a second, then muttered to himself, ‘What the hell would I care about breakfast?‘
But, his actions spoke louder than words. “Do whatever,” he said nonchalantly.
As Winston moved toward the dining table, Chelsea silently exhaled in relief, then got busy. She made French toast with eggs, toast, and peanut butter, then cooked up some ravioli she had prepped earlier.
The kitchen filled with the sounds of cooking. Winston’s gaze lowered for a moment, then he stood up and walked over to the coffee machine. With practiced ease, he began grinding the beans.
Chelsea, momentarily distracted, glanced over and caught sight of his hands. They were beautiful–long, slender fingers, well–kept nails, and skin so pale it looked like marble, but there was an undeniable strength in how he handled everything.
As she was lost in thought, Winston suddenly broke the silence. “My grandmother’s coming over this weekend.”
Chelsea turned to him, concern written all over her face. “Is your grandmother feeling better?”
+23)
When they had gotten married, she’d heard that Winston’s grandmother was in the hospital. Chelsea had wanted to visit, but since he never mentioned it, she decided not to push. After all, their marriage was a farce.
Winston opened his mouth to say something but hesitated. “Actually, my grandmother…”
He had intended to admit that his grandmother was perfectly fine, and pretending to be sick wasn’t exactly new for her.
But then his phone rang, interrupting him. He glanced at the screen–it was Fabian Howe.
After a short conversation, Winston stepped out of the kitchen, his voice smooth and low. “Got it. Everything’s on track.”
Chelsea didn’t want to interrupt him, so she quietly finished her breakfast.
By the time Winston hung up, Chelsea was done eating.
She went to her room, changed into fresh clothes, and applied some cream to her rashes. As she was about to leave, she waved at Winston. “It’s getting late. I’m off to work.”
Winston gave a soft grunt in reply, his gaze following her as she headed out.
As Chelsea made her way down the stairs, a sleek black car caught her eye. The door was shut, but the window was cracked.
Inside, his grandmother, Muriel, sat up straight, eyes gleaming with interest, watching Chelsea closely.
“Are you sure this is my granddaughter–in–law?” Muriel’s voice held a hint of both curiosity and uncertainty.
4/4
AD
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