Chapter 4: Say That Again

It was Christmas Eve. Despite waking with swollen eyes and dark circles, Lala dragged herself into the bathroom, washed up, dressed in a rush, and left the house.

She drove straight to John’s office. Her mind was a storm of questions she couldn’t silence: Why was he choosing Hannah over her? Did all those years mean nothing? Was this really how they would end?

She pulled into the company parking lot and stepped out—only to see John getting out of his car as well.

He noticed her and paused for a split second before turning away.

“John,” she called.

He stopped and looked back, irritation already on his face. “What?”

Lala swallowed hard, meeting his eyes. “Are you really doing this—ending everything with me?”

John’s expression didn’t change. “If that’s what you think, then yes.”

Tears gathered, burning at her lash line. He always did this—twisting things until she felt like the one to blame. Her voice trembled. “I had plans for us. I wanted a future. I really thought we could keep going… but it looks like you’ve already decided.”

Her throat tightened. She turned away quickly, trying to hold herself together as she made it back to her car. Her fingers closed around the door handle—but something made her look back.

John was walking off without a single glance behind him.

“No, John!” she cried.

She ran after him and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, clinging like letting go would kill her. “Please don’t leave me,” she begged. “I’m begging you—don’t leave me.”

John stiffened, then tore her arms away. His voice rose, sharp and ugly. “What is wrong with you? I don’t want your sorry ass, Lala. I can’t bring myself to ever love you again. What do you want me to say for you to understand? I don’t love you anymore.”

People were watching. Lala didn’t care.

She dropped to her knees, clutching at his leg. “I still love you, John!”

John shoved her off. “I don’t love you. Get your filthy hands off me.”

“That’s enough,” a deep voice cut in.

John turned.

A few metres away stood Philip—his uncle—face unreadable, eyes narrowed with quiet warning. John shot Lala a look of pure contempt, then turned on his heel and walked away.

After John walked away, Philip went over to Lala, helped her to her feet, and asked gently, “Are you okay?”

Tears streamed down her face. Looking helpless, she whispered, “I don’t know.”

Philip nodded, understanding. “I think you should go home and clean yourself up. I’ll talk to him.”

“Thank you,” Lala said.

She got into her car and drove off—but instead of going home, she went to a bar. She ordered a bottle of liquor and a couple of glasses, then poured drink after drink, swallowing them one after another.

“You shouldn’t be drinking alone in a bar like this.”

Philip’s deep voice slid into her ears. Lala stiffened, startled. When she turned, her cheeks were already flushed, like someone caught doing something she shouldn’t. She avoided his eyes and muttered, “Aren’t you supposed to be at the office?”

Philip took the seat beside her. “I’m a regular here. I come to unwind.”

Lala studied him for a moment, then lifted her chin. “Care for a drink?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

Philip reached for a glass, poured himself a drink, and downed it in one go. Lala couldn’t stop watching him. On impulse, she blurted, “Where is your wife?”

The words hit her all at once. “I’m sorry,” she rushed on. “I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine,” Philip cut in calmly. “I lost her years ago. I’ve been single since. Business has taken up most of my time.”

Lala’s eyes softened, catching the light. Her voice turned tentative—almost suggestive. “Would you ever give love another chance?”

“Definitely,” Philip said without hesitation.

They both reached for the bottle at the same time. Their fingers brushed.

A sharp, electric jolt ran through Lala. She pulled her hand back quickly, heat rising to her face as she looked away.

They talked for a little while longer, but the air between them had changed. Suddenly Lala stood. “I need to go.”

She hurried out, got into her car, and drove home. In her room, she lay on the bed staring at the ceiling, eyes wide, replaying that brief touch over and over until it felt louder than their entire conversation.

And across town, Philip sat in his own quiet house, unable to stop thinking about her too.

The next day was Christmas. Lala took a bath, put on a new outfit and a Santa hat, then left home. Outside, she snapped a few pictures with a snowman before heading into a live theatre. The moment she stepped into the grand hall, she froze.

John and Hannah were kissing.

Lala’s chest tightened. Her throat constricted, breath coming thin and sharp as if the air had been stolen from the room.

She turned to leave—then stopped.

With bloodshot eyes, she strode toward them. As she closed the distance, John and Hannah noticed her and pulled apart.

“Lala,” Hannah said, shifting awkwardly.

Lala’s voice shook with fury. “You’re shameless. You’re really out here with my man? And you don’t even return my calls anymore. I thought you were my best friend, but you proved me wrong. You chose a dick over our friendship. You’re nothing but a bitch, Hannah.”

John’s expression hardened. “Don’t call her that.”

Lala swung her glare at him and let out a bitter laugh. “Look at you—so shameless. You claim you love me, but you’re cheap enough to fall for my best friend the second she throws herself at you. You’re the lowest of men. Disgusting.”

Hannah’s mouth curled. “Lowest of men?” she mocked. “But you still got on your knees and begged him to take you back. That’s you, Lala—someone who doesn’t even know her own worth.” She tilted her head. “Or maybe you don’t have any.”

Something in Lala snapped. Her eyes burned, voice dropping into a dangerous edge.

“Bitch,” she hissed, stepping closer. “Say that again.”