Chapter 3: Flirting With His Grandfather

Winchester didn’t think much of it and readily agreed. “Sure.”

Franklin’s eyes darkened, and he immediately objected. “There’s no need for that.”

But Winchester called out his number without considering Franklin’s opinion. Franklin clenched his fists, already deciding that he would make Christy delete his grandfather’s number once they left.

Seething, he turned and walked off to the dining table, where he sat down in silence.

“I really had fun today,” Christy said brightly. “I wish I didn’t have to go home at all. I’d love to spend the entire Christmas holiday here. You’re so experienced at snooker—if I could learn more from you, I’d be a pro in no time.” She flashed Winchester a flattering smile.

“Hahaha!” Winchester burst into laughter, clearly pleased. A broad grin lit up his face, his eyes curving with genuine delight.

“You can come whenever you want,” he told Christy. “I’ve got nothing else going on.”

Franklin’s grip tightened around his fork. He was furious.

They ate quietly. When the maids came to clear the table, Franklin opened his mouth to speak—but Christy beat him to it.

“Mr. Winchester, have you ever visited the mountain area?” she asked. “I heard you’ve been busy all your life—either making money or competing in sports. Have you ever gone on a proper date or taken a countryside picnic?”

Franklin felt as if he could spit blood. He glared at Christy, his gaze icy.

“That’s enough, Christy,” he said, each word pushed out through clenched teeth.

Winchester, however, mulled over the question. The tension hung thick, but Christy seemed satisfied—that was exactly what she wanted.

“I’ve never done any of that,” Winchester admitted helplessly. “I’ve had to look after the company, and if I had any free time, I spent it competing in sports.”

“Instead of regretting it,” Christy suggested, “now that you have more time, why not plan for it?”

That was the last straw for Franklin. Completely fed up with being ignored by his own girlfriend, he stood and said coldly, “Grandpa, it’s getting late. Christy and I will be leaving now.”

Winchester looked up, startled. “So soon? I thought you planned to leave by ten. It’s barely nine.”

“Change of plans,” Franklin snapped.

Franklin glanced at Christy, expecting a reaction, but she sat calmly in the chair, unbothered. She even smiled at Winchester and said, “Mr. Winchester, may I call you Winchester? Calling you ‘Mr.’ makes you sound old, and you’re still young and vibrant.”

Flattered, Winchester burst into laughter and grinned. “Kid, you really are good with words.”

Franklin’s jaw tightened. He turned on his heel and stalked to his car. He yanked open the door, dropped into the driver’s seat, and started the engine. His foot hovered over the gas. But then the thought of leaving Christy alone with his grandfather gnawed at him. He couldn’t do it.

He killed the engine, got out, and slammed the door, fury simmering under his skin. The main door opened, and Winchester and Christy stepped out, chatting and laughing. They looked genuinely happy. Franklin couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his grandfather so happy.

A dull ache tightened in his chest. His breath came shallow. He clenched his fists until his knuckles whitened, fighting the urge to march over and tear the moment apart. Instead, he turned back to the car and brought his fist down on the roof with a sharp crack.

“Damn it,” he hissed.

Christy approached after finishing her conversation with Winchester, her face bright with a sweet smile. But as she reached Franklin, the smile faded. Her expression went blank.

“Delete my grandfather’s number from your phone,” Franklin said, his voice cold, anger burning in his eyes.

Christy stared at him, silent. She didn’t reach for her purse, didn’t move at all.

He waited, impatience flaring. “Are you going to do it or not?”

She said nothing.

Seething, Franklin slid back into the car and started it. He pulled away slowly, watching her in the side mirror. She didn’t move. The thought of Winchester offering her a ride home made his grip tighten on the wheel. He slammed the brakes, threw the car into reverse, and rolled back to where she is.

“Get in,” he said, voice like ice.

Christy slipped into the passenger seat without a word. Franklin pulled away from his grandfather’s mansion, jaw set, eyes hard. Usually, when he was this angry, Christy would cling to him—pleading, smoothing things over, doing anything to keep the peace. Tonight, she stared out the window, silent.

Minutes dragged by. The quiet scraped his nerves raw.

“What was that?” he finally snapped. “Why did you flirt with my grandfather? Do you know how disgusted and pissed I was? What came over you?”

He waited. Nothing. Not even a flinch.

Frustration flared hot. He jammed his foot on the accelerator and sped down the road, face cold, knuckles white on the wheel.

When he pulled up in front of Christy’s house, she got out immediately and walked away. No goodnight. No explanation. Nothing.

He stared, stunned. Then he shoved his door open. “Christy!”

She stopped and turned. He strode up to her, anger pulsing. “What’s with the shitty attitude? If you’re going to act like this, I’m going to end this relationship. I won’t fucking tolerate that kind of disrespect. Got it?”

He waited for a reaction. She only looked at him, unreadable.

A vein throbbed at his temple. “Don’t call me again,” he ground out.

He spun back to his car and tore off. Christy went inside without looking back.

On the drive home, he kept glancing at his phone, waiting for it to light up with her apology. It didn’t. The silence stoked his anger.

At home, he paced, checking his screen again and again. Nothing.

Why is she acting so strange? he wondered, a knot of confusion tightening in his chest.