Chapter 22 The Alcohol

Cassandra’s POV

After work, I usually spend time with my mom before falling asleep out of sheer exhaustion. But tonight, I decided to do something different. I... didn’t know how to escape all of this and ended up choosing the most foolish thing I’ve ever done.

“You need this drink to refresh yourself!” Franco said, walking toward me with a glass he got from the bartender.

We were at one of the biggest nightclubs in New York. Don’t even ask how crowded it was—this place was like an ocean of people, with music pounding loudly. Franco had seated me at one of the sofas upstairs—a semi-private spot on the second floor that wasn’t too crowded. From here, I could see the dance floor, where hundreds of people were dancing freely.

“I think I do,” I nodded, accepting the drink he handed me. “Is this alcoholic?” I brought the rim of the glass to my nose, grimacing slightly at the strong smell of alcohol.

“Of course!” Franco poured more alcohol from a bottle into his glass, drinking it casually.

For a moment, I hesitated. I still remember ending up in strange bedrooms twice after getting drunk.

“If I get drunk and lose control, make sure you take me home and put me in my bed, Franco.”

“You can trust me,” Franco nodded. “I won’t drink too much tonight since I’m driving. You can relax and enjoy yourself.”

Reassured, I downed the entire contents of my glass in one gulp.

“Whoa!” Franco reached out to take my glass, “Easy, Cass! You’ll just burn your throat drinking like that. Take it slow and enjoy the taste.”

“I’m not here to enjoy the taste,” I replied, wiping the corner of my mouth. “Get me another one.”

Franco laughed at my request but complied, handing me another glass, which I quickly drained.

“If I didn’t know you, I’d think you were some heartbroken woman who just broke up with her boyfriend. You look pathetic right now,” he remarked.

Franco knew I didn’t have a boyfriend, nor was I heartbroken over anyone. However, there were things he didn’t know: the gunfire attack at the party and the fact that I’d just met one of my husband’s people.

I didn’t need a boyfriend to drive me crazy—these two issues were enough to make me lose my mind.

“I want another,” I mumbled softly.

Franco raised an eyebrow. “We’ve barely been here an hour, and you’re already set on getting drunk? It’s too early for that, Cass!”

“I don’t care!” I closed my eyes, feeling the beginnings of dizziness. I knew I was a terrible drinker. After this, I’d surely be a burden on Franco, and he’d probably be traumatized by all my drunken antics, then refusing to drink with me ever again. “Give it to me, Franco!”

With a deep sigh, Franco poured me another glass of alcohol.

After drinking it, I leaned back on the sofa and closed my eyes.

I heard a group of women greet Franco, asking if they could join us, but he declined, knowing I wouldn’t feel comfortable. The women huffed in annoyance but eventually walked away when Franco ignored them.

All this time, I thought I knew Franco well because we were friends. But now I realized I didn’t know him as much as I thought. At least, I hadn’t known he was so well-known in the nightlife scene, with so many people greeting him here—at a large club where the dim lighting made it hard to recognize anyone’s face.

“Hey,” Franco moved to sit beside me, lightly touching my arm as I kept my eyes closed. “I knew something was wrong when you asked me to come drinking. But I didn’t think it was this bad.”

I took a deep breath and poured myself another drink.

“Stop it, Cass,” Franco said, snatching the bottle away just as I filled my glass to the brim. He placed it at the far end of the table, out of my reach.

I drank the alcohol anyway, ignoring his words.

The burning sensation scorched my throat, and I swore I hated this feeling. Alcohol was bitter, and I didn’t like it. But I couldn’t stop myself tonight.

“What’s really going on with you?” Franco looked at me seriously.

I shook my head. “Nothing.” By now, my vision was spinning, and everything felt beyond my control.

Alright, I was officially drunk.

“I think I need to go home,” I said, grabbing my purse and phone.

“Wait, why?” Franco grabbed my arm, stopping me.

“I’m drunk, Franco. This is not going to end well.”

“If you’re not drunk after a few glasses, then I’d have to worship you, Cass. This is strong alcohol, and considering you’re a beginner, I’m sure you’re tipsy after just one.”

“Exactly! That’s why I need to go home.”

“Well, wasn’t the whole point of coming here to get drunk and have fun?”

“No, you don’t understand how I get when I’m drunk.” I stood up, my steps unsteady.

Damn it. I was so drunk.

"What?" Franco chased after me, stopping me as I made my way toward the stairs leading down to the first floor. "Alright, I don’t know how you act when you’re drunk. So, who does? Have you ever been to a club before?"

I smiled and nodded.

I could still remember how many glasses I downed that night until I was completely... wasted. Unfortunately, I couldn’t recall his face. If I knew who he was, I might have smashed my glass against his head for doing something I didn’t like.

"Cass, have you been to a club before?" Franco held my shoulders, forcing me to face him. His expression was serious, but for some reason, I found it funny.

And I laughed.

"Damn, you really are drunk!" he said with a grimace.

"Yes," I nodded.

"Yes, you’re drunk? You realize that?" Franco nearly burst into laughter.

"Yes, I’ve been to a club before," I answered nonchalantly.

Franco’s laughter vanished instantly. He furrowed his brows, his serious expression returning.

"Who were you with?"

I rolled my eyes and let out a huff. "I was with my husband."

"My God, you’re completely drunk, and I think this is hilarious," Franco chuckled—at me, of course.

"I’m not joking!" I snapped, glaring at him.

"Yeah, yeah! You were with your husband. So, who’s your husband?"

Anger bubbled up inside me at his question.

Husband. I shouldn’t have a husband because I didn’t want to marry him. But we had a marriage contract, and I… I was indeed married to him.

"My husband is—"

"Shit!" Franco cursed, letting go of my arms abruptly. He turned, glaring at a waiter who had just spilled a drink on his shirt. "Don’t you have eyes?!" he barked, his voice harsh and cutting. The waiter flinched, visibly terrified as he stammered an apology.

I shook my head briefly and started walking away, tired of the bickering and shouting. I’d heard enough of it at home growing up—I didn’t want to deal with it again now.

As I reached the stairs, someone blocked my path, making me frown in annoyance.

I knew there were plenty of irritating people in nightclubs. But tonight, I was drunk, and I doubted I’d have the patience to tolerate anyone messing with me.

"What do you—" My words trailed off as I looked up and met a pair of obsidian-black eyes gazing at me with a drink in his right hand.

I was speechless, my body swaying slightly. Thankfully, the man in front of me grabbed my arm before I could tumble down the stairs.

"It’s strange, but I don’t know why I always end up dealing with you when you’re drunk," he said calmly, smiling faintly. "Didn’t I tell you not to get drunk without me around? Who do you think is going to take care of you when you lose control, Cassandra?"

I wouldn’t have believed my eyes if this man hadn’t said my name exactly the way Mr. Alexavier always did. But he was here.

My boss, who hadn’t been in the office this morning, was now standing in front of me while I was drunk in a club.

"Mr. Alexavier, is it really you?" I lifted my hand, brushing my fingers against his face.

Of course, I wouldn’t have dared to do this if we were at the office. And after what happened yesterday, I was even more afraid of him—a man who was incredibly skilled with a gun. He could shoot with deadly precision, killing without hesitation. I would never dare touch this dangerous man with my hands, yet here I was, doing it to make sure he was real.

"I am, Cassandra."

"No, you’re not." I shook my head, pulling my hand away from his face. "I must be dreaming."

I knew I was drunk, and this had to be part of my imagination. What I needed to do now was go back upstairs, find Franco, and ask him to take me home.

"And I’d love to know what your dreams are like, Cassandra," Mr. Alexavier responded, stepping closer.

Even though I was standing on a higher step, I still had to tilt my head up to meet his gaze. His face was so close I could feel his breath brushing against my skin, heating my already flushed cheeks. From this distance, I could see the depth of his dark eyes.

I understood what was happening, but I didn’t try to stop it.

When Mr. Alexavier’s lips pressed against mine, I couldn’t do anything but close my eyes.

My mind kept replaying the same thought: this was all just a figment of my imagination.

But if this was my dream, it was the wildest one I’d ever had.

I couldn’t believe I was letting Mr. Alexavier kiss me in a club. His lips were cold against mine, but his tongue was warm. He entwined it with mine, leaving me helpless against his insistence. His body pressed me against the edge of the stairs, his hands caressing my back and waist. Occasionally, his fingers brushed close to my chest, grazing it almost deliberately.

"You taste so sweet, Cassandra," he murmured into the kiss.

I was running out of breath, but Mr. Alexavier’s tongue didn’t relent.

When I began to feel something wet spreading in my underwear, reality hit me—this wasn’t a dream.

I opened my eyes and stared at Mr. Alexavier, who was still so close to my face. I lifted my hands, wrapping them around his neck, pulling our lips even closer together.

Oh God, I was really kissing him. This wasn’t a dream.

So… what happens now? Would I end up in his bed like the last time?