“Hey! Are you out of your mind?” William suddenly shouted at Naomi, stepping forward. “Watch what you’re saying!”
James raised his hand in front of William’s mouth, stopping him mid-word. His eyes never left Naomi’s face. His voice shook as he said, barely a whisper, “Please… continue.”
The nurse’s eyes blazed with anger as she looked at James. “I know you come from wealth. Your status, your power… it’s all far higher than Miss Bennett’s. But you,” she said, her voice cold and cutting, “you don’t deserve to be her husband.”
James’s body trembled, broken, his chest heaving. “I… I did so many things wrong,” he stammered, voice cracking. “I didn’t realize I loved her until she already left me.”
The nurse didn’t flinch. She stared at him without pity. “Even if it’s this late. I’m glad she left you. I hope she never goes back to you. You don’t deserve a chance to make up for your mistakes. Someone as heartless as you should live with regret for the rest of your life.”
Her words cut him deeper than any knife. She leaned closer, her voice calm but filled with the fury she had carried for years. “Didn’t you ask me what Miss Bennett wanted to say to her husband before leaving him?”
“Y-Yes,” James whispered, his body shaking violently. His hands clutched the desk as he leaned closer, desperation written in every trembling line of his face. “Please… tell me. Please…”
Naomi’s eyes, full of disgust and pain, met his. Her lips pressed into a thin line. “No,” she said finally. “I will never tell you. You do not deserve it.”
James’s knees gave out. His body crumpled as if the weight of the world had fallen upon him. William rushed forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Mr. Sinclair… are you all right? It’s going to be okay—”
James shoved him roughly aside, tears streaming down his face. “I want to be alone.”
He stumbled, barely keeping upright, and turned away, leaving the reception in chaos.
But he couldn’t even make it to the bed. His knees gave way, his hands bracing against the cold wall, tears streaming down his face. His body shook as sobs wracked him. Every word of Naomi’s accusation, every image of Mia alone and suffering, echoed in his mind, piercing him with unbearable guilt.
Hours passed in darkness. The room was silent except for his ragged breathing. Two hours later, William returned to find the hospital room empty. Panic gripped him. He checked the tracker—James was at a bar.
William rushed out of the hospital immediately.
At the bar, James sat hunched over the table, trembling. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey, unscrewed it, and poured it into a glass until it overflowed. He slammed the bottle down, picked up the glass, and drank straight, hard, letting it burn downhis throat. The burn of the alcohol barely touched the torment inside him.
The nurse’s words replayed in his mind like a merciless loop:
“Why didn’t you show up when she was hurt?”
“ I even thought her husband was already dead!”
The voice repeated again and again, merging with his guilt. He pulled out his phone and stared at a photograph of Mia—young, radiant, beautiful, her eyes full of hope, standing next to him. He was there too, hands behind his back, staring blankly at the camera, as if forced. His chest tightened, the weight of regret pressing down harder with every memory, every moment he had wasted.
His chest tightened painfully as the image seared itself into his mind. Every heartbeat felt like fire, every breath a knife.
He slammed the glass down again, the ice rattling, but nothing could drown the voice inside his head.
That’s when a voice cut through the haze.
“Yes, Mia is living at my brother’s house right now. I’ll bring her home tonight,” a waiter entered the private room, speaking into the Bluetooth in his ear.
James froze, his eyes snapping toward the voice. The waiter’s gaze landed on him, wide with shock. “Oh—oh! I’m sorry, sir! I didn’t realize… I mean, I think I entered the wrong room—”
James was already on his feet. Two long strides, and he was in front of the man. His hands shot out, gripping the waiter’s collar with a strength fueled by desperation and rage. “Where is Mia?!” he demanded, his voice sharp, tremors of anger and fear ripplingthrough every word. “What are you talking about? Where is she living?”
Just then, Gabriel and Neil entered the room. Seeing James about to assault the waiter, Gabriel lunged forward, prying his hands off the waiter. “James! Stop!” he shouted, steadying him. Neil grabbed the other side, forcing him to release the trembling man.
The waiter’s words faltered as James shook him roughly. “I—I was talking about my daughter,” the man stammered, turning to flee down the hall as fast as he could.
Gabriel spun James around to stand properly, snapping at him. “Have you lost your mind? Look at yourself! You’re assaulting a waiter just because you heard Mia’s name!”
James staggered backward, his chest heaving, but his mind wasn’t listening. All he heard was “daughter” and “Mia.”
His body trembled, devastated. “I… I made her drink that night…” he whispered, voice breaking. His eyes flicked to the whiskey bottles scattered on the table. “I made her drink all night… and she’d never had alcohol before. She was drinking for me… I didn’t realize she was in so much pain.”
