“Check your drawer,” she replied, sounding utterly nonchalant.
His gut twisted with dread.
He rushed to the master bedroom, yanking open the nightstand drawer.
Inside, he found it stuffed with shredded pieces of their wedding portrait. Carter’s eyes widened in shock, rage flooding through him as he stared at the mess, unable to comprehend what he was seeing.
“Whitney, you-” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper, his entire body trembling with fury.
“Why are you so mad? You should’ve known this was coming the moment you bailed on getting the license,” Whitney shot back, her voice sharp.
Standing in the lobby of the real estate office, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the glass-her smile was devoid of warmth, a mask she wore with ease.
“Carter, we can’t go back anymore,” Whitney said, her voice icy and resolute, sealing the fate of their relationship.
Inside the opulent VIP suite of the Royal Crest Club, Carter sat slumped on the plush couch, a dazed expression clouding his features. His fingers tightened around the glass in his hand, the amber liquid inside reflecting the dim light of the room.
He tilted his head back, revealing a perfectly sculpted jawline, and downed the remnants of his drink in a single, determined gulp. The coolness of the alcohol slid down his throat, but it did little to clear the fog in his mind.
In front of him lay a chaotic array of empty bottles, evidence of the evening’s indulgence.
A group of his friends exchanged furtive glances, their expressions a mix of concern and curiosity.
“Carter, come on, man. What’s going on? Did you have a fight with Milly or something?” one of them ventured, trying to lighten the mood.
At the mere mention of Milly, Carter’s head snapped up like a jack-in-the-box. “What happened to Milly?” he barked, his voice laced with urgency.
“Or is this about Whitney?” another friend piped in, sensing the tension in the air.
Carter’s eyes, clouded with the effects of alcohol, suddenly widened with a mix of anger and hurt. “Don’t you dare mention her in front of me!” he snapped, his voice rising.
“Whitney, you ungrateful witch,” he muttered under his breath, his words tumbling out in a rush. “How could you be so cold? We were supposed to get married, and you just…”
Before he could finish that thought, his body slumped back against the couch, eyes fluttering shut as he succumbed to the alcohol’s grip.
“Wow, when did Whitney become such a big deal to him?” his friends thought, their faces reflecting a mix of shock and concern.
“Should we call Whitney to come pick him up?” one of them suggested, a hint of mischief in his tone.
Steven Smith, always the practical one, already had Whitney’s number saved in his contacts. He took a deep breath and dialed her up, the phone ringing endlessly in the quiet suite.
“Did she pick up?” one of the guys asked, leaning forward with anticipation.
Carter had certainly had his share of drunken nights before, but they were usually tied to the girl he truly cared about-Emily.
In those instances, Steven would call Whitney, and she’d always answer without hesitation. He used to joke that she must have his number on speed dial.
But tonight felt different, as if the universe had shifted in an unexpected way.
“She didn’t answer. Now what do we do?” Steven asked, glancing around at the others.
“Looks like we might have to call Emily,” one of them suggested with a smirk, clearly enjoying the drama unfolding before them.
By the time Emily arrived at the Royal Crest Club, Carter was completely out of it, a drunken mess sprawled across the couch.
“What on earth happened to him?” she asked, her voice tinged with annoyance as she surveyed the scene.
“Hey, we didn’t force him to drink. It’s just that he had a little spat with Whitney,” one of the guys explained, his tone light but the atmosphere heavy.
As soon as the words left his mouth, the room fell silent, tension thickening the air.
The friend who had spoken suddenly found himself on the receiving end of a playful punch from another. “Don’t mind him, Emily. He’s just excited you’re back, so he went a bit overboard!”
Emily’s expression darkened slightly. She couldn’t afford to dismiss Carter’s friends, but the situation was clearly not to her liking. Nevertheless, she mustered a smile. “Thanks, guys. I’ll take him home now.”
Carter towered over her, a good half a head taller, making it a challenge to support him as she attempted to rouse him from his stupor.
“Carter, do you want to crash at my place, or should I take you home?” she asked, her voice steady despite her frustration.
No response came from him; he was too far gone in his drunken haze.
With a small, resigned smile, she decided, “If you’re not going to say anything, I guess I’ll just take you home with me.”
The struggle to get him into the taxi was a comedy of errors, but Emily managed it, giving the driver her apartment address with a sigh of relief.
Once inside the cab, Carter couldn’t sit still, leaning heavily against her, burying his face in her neck. The scent of alcohol clung to him, invading her senses as he mumbled incoherently.
“Whit, how could you tear up our wedding photos just because you got mad at me?” he slurred, the words barely making sense.
“You’re not a good girl. Guess I’ll have to punish you,” he added, his voice low and dangerous.
Emily’s heart sank at his words, a bitter taste forming in her mouth.
“So he got completely wasted tonight because of Whitney,” she thought with a mixture of anger and sadness.
Whitney had made two significant moves today.
First, she had shown Carter just how serious she was about ending their relationship.
Second, she had finally paid off the small apartment she had been living in, a decision that drained her savings accumulated over the last three years since graduation.
Holding the deed in her hands felt like a weight lifting off her shoulders, a new chapter opening up in her life.
With the sun still shining, Whitney made her way to AetherTech, determined to lay everything out for her father.
The receptionist at AetherTech looked at her with a blank expression, failing to recognize her.
Outside of Samuel’s assistant and a couple of secretaries, very few people at the company had ever actually seen Whitney before.
“Hi, I’m here to see Mr. Samuel Moore,” she announced confidently, her voice steady.
The receptionist shot her a frosty glare. “Do you have an appointment? Without one, you can’t see Mr. Moore.”
“Could you please tell Peter that Whitney Moore is here? He knows who I am,” Whitney replied, her tone unwavering.
The receptionist let out a snicker, glancing at her coworker. “Here comes another one claiming she knows Peter.”
“Sorry, but Peter’s off today. You might want to try again another day,” the receptionist said dismissively.
Whitney felt a surge of annoyance. She didn’t visit AetherTech often, but the way the receptionist scrutinized her, looking down her nose, was infuriating.
“Just wait. I’ll make a call,” Whitney said, her voice icy.
She dialed Laura, her tone sharp. “Laura, I’m in the lobby at AetherTech. Can you tell the front desk I need to see Dad?”
Laura sounded surprised. “Whit, didn’t you give them your name?”
“Just pass the phone to them. I’ll talk to them. Sorry, they probably don’t know who I am yet,” Whitney replied, her patience wearing thin.
Laura’s call worked like a charm, much quicker than Whitney’s own efforts.
The receptionist begrudgingly opened the door for her, muttering under her breath, “Who does she think she is, anyway?”
As Whitney waited for the elevator, she unexpectedly ran into Hector Fischer, another lawyer from their firm.
“Whitney, you’re here for business too?” Hector asked, a curious glint in his eyes.
Whitney shot him a glance. “Just handling some personal matters. Are you here on business?”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.