Chapter 2

Luckily, Darren just gave me a cold, indifferent glance before looking away, like I was just another nobody.

Yeah, figures.

Look at me now. Who would ever connect this version of me to the woman who used to be all glitz and glamour?

Besides, in his mind, I probably took the money and went off somewhere to live it up.

I let out a sigh of relief, but at the same time, a strange, sour feeling twisted in my chest.

Halfway through the gala, I slipped into a quiet corner to catch my breath.

"Did you hear? Mr. Marshall didn't just mess up his legs in that crash. Word is, he can't have kids anymore," a woman whispered.

"Shh! You want to get yourself killed? Keep your voice down," her friend hissed.

"It's basically an open secret now. The Marshall family is in total panic, and all those distant relatives are just circling like sharks, waiting to see what happens. No heir means Marshall Holdings won't last," the first woman said.

"What about Madeline? Isn't she still his favorite?" the other woman asked.

"Madeline? Oh, she's clever as they come. Now that Mr. Marshall can't have kids anymore, she's been pushing to go abroad. Advanced studies, she says. But everyone knows she's just looking for an exit," the first woman scoffed.

The two socialites were whispering not far away. Their voices were low. But in that quiet corner, every word carried.

I gripped my tray a little tighter.

So his life wasn't so perfect either.

A tangled rush of bitter satisfaction and quiet dread welled up inside.

Just then, the supervisor came rushing over and grabbed my arm. "Blair, move it! One of the waiters spilled drinks at the head table. You're covering."

I really didn't want to go. Darren was sitting at that table.

"Can someone else go?" I muttered, trying to sound as pitiful as possible.

"Are you here to make money or to pick and choose? If you don't go, get out right now. No pay," the supervisor snapped.

Thinking of Andrew waiting for his medicine money, I steeled myself. "I'll do it."

Carrying the tray of freshly decanted red wine, my head down, I walked toward the head table.

The air there was thick. I could feel it from ten feet away.

Darren sat at the head, fiddling with a wine glass, his gaze stormy and distant. Seated beside him were some Marshall family seniors, and Madeline, the woman from the news.

She was strikingly beautiful, radiant, and eye-catching, but right now, impatience was written all over her face.

"Darren, I've told you, I'm just going abroad to study, not leaving for good. Do you really have to look so sour?" she whined, her tone playful but annoyed.

Darren didn't say a word. He just gave a cold, mocking smirk, his smile dripping with sarcasm.

"Pour," he ordered.

His voice cut through the air. Sharp. Cold.

I stiffened, bracing myself as I stepped forward.

As I leaned in to pour, Madeline flinched back as if I were something dirty. Her elbow caught me hard in the arm.

With a loud splash, half a bottle of red wine drenched Darren's leg beneath the blanket and ruined his pricey shirt.

The whole room went dead silent.

Madeline shrieked, "Are you blind? What the hell is wrong with you?"

My mind buzzed. This was it. I was done for.

Before I could say a word, Madeline jumped up, jabbing her finger right at my face. "Do you have any idea how much this outfit costs? You couldn't afford it if you sold yourself. How did a waitress like you even get in here?"

Darren didn't move.

Red wine dripped from his pale fingertips, looking just like a bloodstain from some brutal scene.

He slowly raised his head, those bottomless eyes locking onto me.

Just when I thought he was about to explode, he narrowed his eyes.

"Raise your head," he ordered coldly, his voice suddenly raspy and terrifying.

I was trembling, my nails biting into my palms.

I couldn't raise my head.

If I did, everything would fall apart.

"I'm so sorry, sir. I'll clean it up right away," I said shakily, fumbling in my pocket for a handkerchief, trying to wipe the wine from him, desperately hoping he wouldn't notice me.

Just as my hand was about to touch his knee, he shot out his hand and snatched my wrist in a vice-like grip.

His strength was unreal. Even injured, he still made it hard to breathe, the pressure almost crushing.

He pulled my hand away, making me meet his gaze whether I wanted to or not.

We locked eyes.

Darren's eyes widened in shock. And then, something crashed through his dead gaze. Like a tidal wave.

"B-Blair?" He forced out the name, each syllable grinding through his clenched teeth.