Frank pov
"There's whiskey and tequila on the table—high-proof stuff."
His long fingers tapped the wood sharply, each click ringing in my nerves like a warning.
"But if you're willing, no one's stopping you."
I looked at the twelve and a half glasses lined up. Nine drinks each—it sounded brutal, but not impossible.
I was about to nod when Ruby jumped in front of me, panic written all over his face.
"Forget it. Let's just call the cops."
I shook my head.
No way. I couldn't let this whole night go to hell.
The White Wolves just won the championship. Everyone's clamoring for interviews. We got a rare chance to get in. If something went wrong tonight—if even William told us to get lost when we showed up again with Nancy—the whole thing would be ruined.
I lowered my head and picked up the lightest-looking glass. Ruby hesitated but copied me, lifting his own cup.
The liquid was golden, harmless to look at—but the first sip burned my throat like acid.
Tears pricked my eyes.
This wasn't just alcohol. It was poison.
It took me three tries to force the drink down.
Before I could even catch my breath, Ruby suddenly crashed.
Bang!
He collapsed, knocking me off balance.
I fell backward in slow motion.
The crystal chandelier above blurred in my vision, the ornate ceiling patterns swirling like they wanted to swallow me whole.
I hit something solid—a wall? No, softer.
...A person's thigh?
I blinked and looked up into William's cold, unreadable face.
I'd fallen right into his arms.
Laughter erupted around us, louder and more mocking than before.
"Eager much, throwing yourself into his lap?" someone jeered.
Heat flushed my cheeks as I scrambled to explain—only to be shoved away roughly by William.
I staggered several steps before steadying myself.
"How long are you gonna lie there?" His voice was sharp, disgust dripping from every word.
I wasn't lying down because I wanted to. My legs were weak, my head spinning.
"I... I'm really sorry. It was an accident..."
"Accident?" He stood and sneered down at me.
"How long do you plan to keep up this act?"
I froze.
"What?"
"This boring little show you're putting on—how much longer?" His impatience was like nails on a chalkboard.
"Repeating the same trick just makes it sad and pathetic. No originality."
I understood.
He thought I was faking it.
But I wasn't.
Every ounce of tension, humiliation, exhaustion, and shame I'd bottled up exploded.
My eyes burning red, I said nothing more.
I grabbed a glass and threw it at him.
Golden liquid splashed across his face.
He froze, then roared, "Are you crazy?!"
Harris quickly grabbed his arm.
"Let it go, William. Don't ruin the party over this. Just make them leave."
The air froze.
Everyone went quiet, like a bucket of cold water had been dumped on the room.
Dylan and Gary stepped in to calm things down.
No one wanted to see William lose it.
He sat back down, still scowling.
"Get out. Now." He snapped at me.
I gritted my teeth, wiped my tears away, and nudged Ruby with my foot.
He groaned awake, clearly drunk—not pretending.
"Come on. They told us to leave."
He struggled up slowly, voice weak and fragile.
"Can we really go now?"
I didn't answer, just grabbed his wrist.
His skin was warm—too warm—and my own hand felt like it was burning.
I didn't dare look back.
Behind me stood a beast, ready to pounce if I faltered.
I pulled Ruby out the door without stopping.
Only when the cold wind hit my face outside did I let go and crouch down, dry-heaving.
I hadn't eaten all day.
I'd been slammed with proposals and deadlines, lost in work until the last minute.
Then his call had dragged me here.
And now... this mess.
The mocking laughter still echoed in my ears.
My mouth burned with the bitter taste of alcohol.
Back at my apartment later, I buried myself in unfinished research, trying to forget everything.
I forgot dinner.
Before I knew it, Ruby called again—another mess.
He said he couldn't handle much, asked me to "save" him.
But I knew better.
He never considered my situation.
He'd long been used to someone else cleaning up after him.
I wasn't that someone.
I had nothing.
As a kid, I dreamed of growing up fast, earning money to give Mom a better life.
Later, I still dreamed of growing up—
But not for anyone else.
To escape the label of "freeloader."
To break free from all the subtle hate and condescension.
So I stayed quiet.
Kept my head down.
Never caused trouble.
If I could handle something alone, I wouldn't ask for help.
Four years of university—I fought tooth and nail just to be a journalist who could stand on his own.
Yet tonight, standing in front of William, I was frozen.
Not because of the booze.
But because of the cold dread creeping from my bones.
I was terrified that the slightest tremble would make me a laughingstock.
"Frank..."
Ruby's voice was low, hesitant.
I didn't look at him, but I could feel his regret.
He probably wanted to hand me something—maybe a tissue.
But his pockets held only a wallet, phone, and the shattered pieces of his "romantic night."
I could almost hear him curse himself.
Good.
At least he was starting to feel it.
Harris came over.
"You guys okay?"
His tone was sincere, nothing like the others' schadenfreude.
He must've known I wasn't faking.
That the drinks were real.
That Ruby was truly hammered.
That his collapse wasn't staged.
"Thanks for asking," I said with a shaky smile—probably ugly, my lips trembling.
I glanced at Ruby.
"How much cash do you have?"
He blinked, then pulled out his wallet.
We had no clue how much those drinks cost, so we emptied every bill we had—about eight hundred dollars between us.
We left a little for the ride home.
I handed the cash to Harris, voice steady despite the quake inside me.
"Sorry to ruin your party."
Saying it, I realized even my breath was shaking.
But I couldn't give in.
Even if I swayed like a drunkard, I had to walk out with some dignity.
Like a man.