Chapter 7

I stared at the glass.

Condensation fogged up the sides; the liquid inside was a dark, bloody red, and the scent hit me hard.

Back in those years hustling with Charles, I could drink anyone under the table. But it cost me a hole in my stomach, a week in intensive care, and my heart flatlining for more than ten seconds on the operating table.

Charles was scared out of his mind. The day he helped me out of the hospital, he blew up right in front of the doctors and nurses. "If anyone ever lets her drink again, they're dead to me."

After that, word got around Baylierd that I wasn't allowed to drink, not a sip. Charles laid down the law.

But now, everything had changed

I glanced at Charles, sprawled out on the sofa.

He lazily held a cigarette, his eyes sweeping over me with indifference as he flicked the ash away. "Come on, Emily, it's one drink. You used to be able to drink anyone under the table."

Olivia leaned in beside him, playing the innocent with a coy tilt of her head. "Charles, didn't you say she can't drink? It's fine. I won't push her."

She started to take the glass back.

Charles caught her hand, holding it in place. "Let her drink it. She brought this on herself. She should pay for it."

I grabbed the glass and knocked it back in one go.

It was like fire blazing down my throat, scorching all the way to my stomach. My stomach dropped hard, and the pain in my gut suddenly flared up.

I put the empty glass back on the table. "So refreshing."

Olivia's smile froze for a split second.

"How about you finish the rest of these too?" She pointed at the four glasses still sitting on the coffee table. "You were locked up for three days, so I won't make a fuss about the emotional trauma.

"Drink these as compensation. That's fair, right?"

She glanced at Charles.

"Of course not," he said, pulling her into his arms and stubbing out his cigarette. "Emily, do as she says. Finish them, and this whole thing's done."

I forced a laugh. "A few drinks? That's not nearly enough."

I bent down and snatched up the bottle from the coffee table. It was still more than half full, with clear liquid inside. I didn't care what it was.

"I'll drink straight from the bottle," I said.

Before anyone could react, I tipped my head back and drained it in one go.

The second the booze hit my throat, it felt like someone was twisting my insides. My gut cramped so hard I doubled over.

The bottle crashed onto the carpet.

Liquor spilled everywhere.

I collapsed on the floor, gripping the edge of the coffee table, the metallic taste of blood flooding my mouth.

I coughed.

The first mouthful of blood spattered across the white tablecloth.

Olivia recoiled in disgust, taking two steps back before sinking deep into the sofa. "Emily, come on, it's a bottle of booze. Did you really have to go all out with the fake blood?"

Charles frowned. "Alright, enough. Get up. How long are you going to keep pretending?"

Someone in the room was eating nuts and laughing at the scene. "What a show."

I didn't say a word, gasping for air. A dark patch was spreading across the fabric at my knees.

The woman sitting nearest to me noticed it first.

She dropped her nuts. "T-There's blood on her legs."

I slowly raised my head.

Charles's cigarette burned out between his fingers, and he didn't notice. In three seconds, all the color drained from his face.

The room went dead silent.

I met his gaze, and in those eyes that used to be full of sweet nothings, I finally saw the look I'd been waiting for three days, and it never showed up until now.

It was fear.

I pulled my lips into a smile. "I gave her your third child as compensation. Is that enough?"