chapter 4

Serena's pov

Chloe immediately panicked. "No. Serena isn't well. She can't drink."

She had been there on the night I suffered alcohol poisoning, having seen everything, and the experience had left its mark on her. The healer had told us that if I had arrived even a little later, I might not have survived.

Damon clearly didn't appreciate Chloe's objection. "You're underestimating Serena. Everyone knows how much she can drink. She once survived two full rounds at a twenty-person dinner with Adrian. Now three glasses are too much? Are you playing favorites? Or are you trying not to give Elena face?"

Elena clearly didn't want the situation to become tense. "Damon, Serena is a she-wolf. Don't make things difficult for her."

"I'm not!" Damon immediately turned toward Adrian. "Adrian, am I making things difficult?"

Adrian looked up, his gaze briefly passing across my face before his lips formed a cold curve. "No."

With Adrian agreeing, Damon became even more confident. "See? Even Adrian says I'm not. Elena, you're too kind. Serena isn't like you—she's been around these business tables for years, so she knows exactly how these games work."

I didn't answer Damon's insult, keeping my eyes on Adrian instead. I wanted to find something in his expression—anything—and waited for him to intervene. Even one word would have been enough: Enough, Stop, or anything that showed he still cared. It was my final attempt to hold on before letting go, but Adrian said nothing, his eyes holding nothing except indifference.

And then I understood.

It felt like someone had poured a bucket of freezing water over me from behind, putting out the last tiny bit of hope I had been protecting. A faint, almost bewildered smile touched my lips as I bent down, picked up a glass, and spoke quietly. "I forgot the rules. I'll drink."

Over the years, I had learned countless tricks for surviving drinking tables: eat something first, fill your stomach, drink milk or yogurt, and take your time. Those methods had once made me nearly unbeatable, but this time, I used none of them. I drank it straight—one glass, then another, then the third.

The white liquor burned all the way down my throat and made my already painful stomach cramp even harder. Still, I lifted the empty glass toward Adrian. "Done. Can I leave now, Adrian?"

…

I never found out whether Adrian nodded, as I didn't wait around to see—turning and walking out instead. My stomach was churning so badly that I was afraid I would throw up before I reached the washroom, and once inside, I bent over and vomited until the room spun around me. At least I was grateful that I had taken stomach medicine earlier instead of antibiotics.

No wolf was simply born with an impressive tolerance for alcohol; before joining Blackwood Business, I had never touched it. The first time I accompanied Adrian to a client dinner, we met a difficult partner who insisted that Adrian drink as proof of sincerity. But Adrian was allergic to alcohol and couldn't drink it, so I stepped in for him.

It was my first drink. I had no experience, and even one glass made me choke badly, but I knew how important the opportunity was to Adrian, so I forced myself to finish it. That became the first project I successfully secured for him, and Adrian called me the hero of Blackwood business. When the deal succeeded, he promised me that we would share the glory.

Because I believed in the future he had described, I never allowed him to drink again. Whenever alcohol appeared at a business table, I took the glasses meant for him, building my tolerance one drink at a time.

But the armor I had spent ten years forging for his sake had somehow become the weapon he used to protect his white moonlight—and after a decade, that weapon had struck me straight between the eyes. It hurt, but more than that, it finally made me see clearly.

When I left Westend Eternal, rain was falling heavily in a sudden late-autumn downpour that was cold and unforgiving. My stomach was still empty and miserable, and my face had lost almost all its color.

I pulled out my phone to order a car, but before I could, Adrian's driver, Marcus Reed, spotted me and hurried over. "Serena, is the party finished? Where's Adrian? He isn't with you?"

"I think he'll be there for a while." My voice sounded distant even to me. The atmosphere inside had been lively and Elena was in his arms, so he wasn't likely to leave anytime soon.

Marcus looked toward the entrance, noticed how pale I was, and made a decision. "Serena, I'll take you home first. It's late, and it's raining. You probably won't find a car easily."

I didn't argue, feeling terrible and lacking the strength to fight with my own body.

Halfway home, however, Adrian called Marcus and asked where he was. Marcus told him the truth: Serena wasn't feeling well, and since he expected the party to continue, he had taken her home first.

Adrian's voice came through the speaker, cold and sharp. "Do you remember who pays your salary?"

Marcus immediately stiffened. "I'll come back for you right away."

Before ending the call, Adrian's voice suddenly softened in a change so obvious it was almost absurd. "The car will be there soon. It's cold outside. Wait indoors."

Then Elena's gentle voice came through. "You're going to wait with me, right, Adrian?"

I never heard Adrian's answer because the call ended.

Marcus looked deeply uncomfortable, so I spoke before he could. "Marcus, just let me out by the roadside. I'll find my own ride."

There was nowhere nearby where I could properly escape the rain, and finding another car would be difficult. Feeling guilty, Marcus handed me the umbrella from the vehicle before I got out.

Perhaps I had finally been unlucky enough for fate to take pity on me, as a car arrived soon after I stepped onto the roadside. Even so, the following morning I woke with a fever and a cold; after the miscarriage, the repeated stomach problems, and the weakened state of my immune system, even a little cold air was enough to knock me down.

But I had a meeting that day with Ryan Mercer from Travis Business about the project Adrian had criticized during the meeting. If I delayed again, I couldn't imagine what Adrian would say next.

I checked my temperature: 38.5°C. It wasn't life-threatening, but I felt miserable. I could have taken fever medicine, but Ryan enjoyed drinking during negotiations. So I threw the medicine back into the drawer, picked up my files, and left the pack office without looking back.