Chapter 2: Drunk Confessions and Shattered Hope

At dawn, Savannah finally showed up, waking me with her stumbling around.

She crashed through the door, heels clacking unevenly on the tile. Her hair was a mess, her eyes glassy and unfocused. The scent of whiskey hit me before she even spoke, thick and sour in the air.

She reeked of whiskey, still wearing the little black dress she’d worn to present Carter’s award, lipstick smeared across her cheek.

The dress clung to her in all the right places, but she was swaying, barely able to stand. Her lipstick was smeared in a jagged line across her cheek. She looked like a mess.

Suddenly, I remembered the weird text I got last night: a photo of Savannah and Carter kissing.

That image flashed in my mind—her arms around him, his hands in her hair. It hit me all over again, sharp and cold.

I felt empty inside. Ever since Savannah took over the family, she wouldn’t even let me touch her—not even to hold hands.

She’d flinch if I so much as brushed her arm. I used to tell myself it was just stress, that she needed time. But watching her with Carter, I knew better.

But she hugged Carter on stage and kissed him at the after-party.

No hesitation. In front of everyone, she gave him what she’d always kept from me. I felt like the world’s biggest fool.

"Eli, why’d you go to bed so early?" she mumbled, her words slurring together.

She leaned against the doorframe, her voice thick and blurry. The accusation in her tone was impossible to miss.

The assistant rushed in to stop her:

He burst in, breathless, eyes wide with panic. He tried to steer her out, but she dug in, refusing to budge.

"Ms. Pierce, it’s almost morning!"

"Sir, Ms. Pierce is drunk. I’ll take her away right now."

"Ms. Pierce, please, don’t upset Sir anymore."

He pleaded with her, glancing nervously at me. The poor guy looked like he wanted to vanish.

Savannah shook the assistant off and pointed at him, shouting:

She jabbed her finger in his face, her words slurred but loud enough to rattle the windows.

"Me, upset him? No matter what I do, he just takes it!"

"Don’t you get it? He’s crazy about me! I won’t even let him touch me, and he just takes it."

Her laugh was sharp, bitter—almost proud of how much I’d put up with.

Then she turned her anger on me:

She spun, eyes blazing. Her voice dropped to a mocking sneer.

"What guy could put up with that? You know what that means? Eli, you’re not even a real man!"

The words stung, like a slap. For a second, all I saw was red.

The assistant gasped and hurried to drag Savannah away.

He grabbed her arm, desperate to get her out before she could do any more damage. His face was pale, sweat beading on his brow.

She kept muttering as she left, "Even if he knows I’m the one who wrecked his hand, what’s he gonna do…"

Her voice trailed off, the words lingering long after the door closed. I stared at my bandaged wrist, the room suddenly too quiet.

I looked down at my wrist, the dried blood mocking my helplessness.

The bandage felt heavier than ever. I tried to flex my fingers. Nothing. I wondered if I’d ever make a fist again.

By noon, when I saw Savannah again, she was sober.

She walked in like nothing had happened—head high, every hair in place, voice all business.

"I was drunk, Eli. Forget what I said this morning," she muttered, clearing her throat and lowering her voice.

She wouldn’t meet my eyes. Her hands fidgeted with the hem of her blazer, but her voice stayed cool.

I faked confusion. "What did you say this morning?"

I forced a smile, pretending not to remember. I wanted to see how far she’d go to keep up the act.

I didn’t miss the flash of sarcasm in her eyes.

For a split second, her mask slipped. She shot a glare at the assistant, her lips curling in annoyance.

She glanced at the assistant with obvious annoyance, like she wanted to say, "See? I told you he wouldn’t care!"

The assistant shrank back, eyes glued to the floor. Savannah straightened, smoothing her skirt.

Savannah put on a show of concern, glancing at my wrist before speaking again:

She sighed, her voice softening just enough to sound almost sincere. "You can’t compete anymore with that hand. The company’s decided to put all our support behind Carter for the competitions."

"All our resources are going to him now. You just stay home and recover—I’ll take care of you."

She said it like she was doing me a favor, as if I should be grateful. The words stung like a slap.

Take care of me? I couldn’t help a bitter laugh.

I almost laughed. The irony was too much. After everything I’d done for her, she acted like I was the one who needed her charity.

I fought tooth and nail to get her that spot. But the way she said it, you’d think I was just some helpless case she had to babysit.

I remembered the long nights, the deals I closed, the fights I picked just to keep her safe. And now she wanted me to sit quietly on the sidelines.

But it didn’t matter—I'd be free in two days.

I told myself that over and over. Two more days, and Mariah would be back. I just had to make it until then.