NOVPUB
Chapter 38 - 38- lonely
"Cynthia, can you put more emotion into your singing, please?"
Vivian and the others sighed in frustration.
"Cynthia, can you stop making it sound like you're just reciting the lyrics every time?"
She just gave a silly laugh. She wanted to add emotion too, but it seemed like she was simply incapable of doing so. It was as if all the passion and enthusiasm in her life had been drained away, leaving her heart cold and empty, devoid of warmth or heat.
Her voice wasn't soft and alluring, nor was it too deep. It was just clear and cold, much like the impression she gave off. She gently held the microphone and sang softly:
She admitted that she was timid and afraid of getting hurt because when others were hurt or vulnerable, there was always someone by their side to comfort and care for them. But not for her. She only had herself, bearing the bone-deep pain alone. It was really bitter.
So, perhaps it's better to remain lonely forever...
"The person I like doesn't show up, the people who show up aren't liked, some loves are full of hesitation, and when I think of him, he leaves."
She quietly sang, the dim light from the screen reflecting off her face, softly casting a pale glow on her delicate features, enveloping her in a faint sadness.
In the corner, Albert Wilson raised an eyebrow, tightening his long fingers. The burning liquid slid down his throat, scorching his heart and lungs. At this moment, her expression and thoughts must have drifted back to that man, right?
An inexplicable feeling of melancholy rose in him, even anger, though he didn't know where to vent it. So, he just kept drinking, one glass after another, his deep gaze locked on her without moving.
When the song ended, the crowd clapped, and as Cynthia turned to face them, she stole a glance at him. He was there, raising his hand in disinterest, clapping a few times half-heartedly, his smile more of a sneer, which sent a chill through her.
As she sat back down, the group urged her to drink. She quickly put on a seductive smile and, in a flirtatious manner, picked up a delicate wine cup from the table and said to them,
"How about this? You buy me a bottle of wine, and I'll drink a cup!"
"Alright!"
The older men were pleased by her willingness and eagerly began to pull out money to buy it. A cold voice suddenly echoed from the dark corner.
"One bottle, one small cup. What if I buy 20 bottles? Does that mean you'll drink a whole bottle?"
As soon as these words were spoken, the room fell silent. Who dared to respond to Vice President Wilson? His thoughts were always unfathomable, and they had assumed he was indifferent to their situation, which is why they had let their guard down and enjoyed themselves. But now, hearing him say this, they realized he had been paying attention to everything.
The coldness in his words and the pressure in his tone made Cynthia's heart race, but at this point, she had no choice but to go along with it. She responded with a smile,
"That's right. If Mr. Wilson buys 20 bottles, I'll drink a whole bottle!" 𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑝𝘶𝘣.𝑐𝘰𝘮
Once she said those words, she bit her lip in secret and thought to herself that if he really bought it, she'd go all in. Twenty bottles—that wasn't a small amount, and she had no reason not to profit from it.
"This lady really has a strong tolerance for alcohol. Then I'll buy 20 bottles!"
He spoke softly, leaning casually against the wall. He raised his hand and handed her his bank card. The silver-gray card glinted coldly, dazzling her eyes.
For a brief moment, her head spun. The laughter of the men around her echoed.
"Albert is really generous!"
"Miss, hurry up and swipe the card, then come back and drink!"
She smiled, though her face stiffened. When she took the bank card, her hand trembled slightly. He stood there like a king, looking down at her, while the beautiful woman by his side wore an expression as if she were watching a play unfold.
She forced herself to take the card, then went to the bar to settle the bill. When she stepped out of the private room, she had an impulse to run away. But thinking of the helpless expressions on the children's faces, she gathered her courage and turned back.
It was just one glass of alcohol, a high-proof liquor. At worst, she'd drink it and then go to the hospital to get her stomach pumped! Returning to the private room, the group had already been waiting. To avoid giving herself a chance to hesitate, she stepped forward, grabbed the bottle, and tilted her head back to drink.
The crowd was stunned by her reckless way of drinking. They had expected her to play around and drink the bottle slowly, one glass at a time. But they didn't expect her to be so decisive and cold.
Cynthia closed her eyes and chugged the alcohol. The strong liquid burned her throat, making her nose sting and her eyes water. Waves of tears welled up. After drinking nearly half of it, a large hand suddenly reached over and snatched the bottle from her, accompanied by a sharp command.
"Enough!"
Her long lashes fluttered slightly. She tightly closed her eyes, forcing the tears back, and then slowly opened them again, meeting his cold, indifferent gaze.
After a few seconds of stunned silence, she felt a wave of dizziness flood her mind. The indifferent face before her suddenly seemed to split into two, then three, four, and finally countless others...
She stared at him in a daze, forcing a smile, but it was full of bitterness. Then, with her eyes closing, she fainted. Just before her eyelids shut completely, she vaguely saw the door to the private room open, and a graceful figure entered. Then she heard the sycophantic voices of the crowd.
"Dylan, you're finally here!"
"Monica, take her back!"
Albert Wilson watched in anguish as a tear slid down her cheek. He quickly reached out to catch her swaying form and shouted to Monica, who was behind him.
They'd known each other for so long, and it seemed like this was the first time he had seen her cry. Even when she had entrusted herself to him that one time, she had clenched her teeth, refusing to shed a tear. But tonight, she was so fragile and helpless, as if she didn't care about her life anymore. What had happened to her, to make her so resolute and desperate?
Monica quickly stepped forward to support Cynthia, carefully guiding her out of the room. Inside the room, Albert Wilson hid his emotions and greeted Karl and the others warmly, but there was a coldness in his eyes. Sometimes, destroying a person doesn't require taking their life—ruining their reputation might be even more cruel.
Monica hailed a taxi and took the unconscious Cynthia back. Jim had other tasks and couldn't make it tonight, so this pampered young woman had to step in to help. But don't underestimate our beautiful dragon lady; no woman from BlackRock is without her skills, so as far as Wilson is concerned, Cynthia is more than capable.
However, seeing the obedient woman sleeping so peacefully in bed, Monica's mischievous side kicked in. It just felt wrong not to do something. Glancing at the time, she felt that their matters must have been settled by now. She took out her phone and dialed her boss's number.
"Hello, Albert Wilson, your wife has gone mad!"
"What's wrong?"
Albert Wilson's confused voice came from the other end. Monica feigned grievance as she complained.
"Ugh, her alcohol tolerance is just awful. She's crying and throwing a tantrum. I really can't handle her. Hurry up and come here, or I'll just leave her here on her own. If anything happens, I'm not responsible!"
Before he could respond, she hung up the phone and hurriedly grabbed her things to leave.
About ten minutes later, a silver-gray car appeared in the dilapidated neighborhood, and a tall man, frowning, with his suit jacket draped over his arm, hurriedly made his way up the stairs.
As Albert Wilson climbed the stairs, he muttered curses under his breath. That damned woman! With such bad alcohol tolerance, why did she insist on drinking so much? After hearing Monica mention her crying and throwing a tantrum, he couldn't sit still anymore. Her tearful face kept appearing in his mind, even though he had never seen it before.
Thankfully, his conversation with Karl had finished, and after a quick farewell, he rushed to her apartment, trying to ignore the lonely, resentful expression on his own face.
He took out the key and opened the door, but the room was eerily silent. His brow furrowed deeper as he tossed his coat onto the sofa and strode through the small living room toward the bedroom. What greeted him was a serene sleeping face.
Her small body was curled up on the large bed, sleeping quietly, her breathing long and steady. He hurried up to her, but there were no traces of tears on her face. Suddenly, he understood something in his heart.
"Monica, what the hell are you doing?"
He shouted into the phone, squeezing it tightly.
Because Monica was so headstrong, when she said earlier that she was drunk, he actually believed her. He rushed over, fearing that she might lose control, only to find that she was passed out cold.
Monica's voice sounded whiny as she said lazily, "Ugh, come on, bro, why are you shouting? Do you want me to spend the whole night like Wilson? I still have a date to go to!"
If she hadn't said that, it would have been fine. But as soon as she mentioned Albert Wilson, he became even angrier, his voice unintentionally rising in volume.
"Stay away from that old man!"
On the other end of the line, Monica went silent for a moment before slamming the phone down.
Albert Wilson, now annoyed, put his phone away. Monica was stunningly beautiful, with a perfect figure, impressive abilities, and education. She was surrounded by suitors, but her pride and arrogance meant she looked down on most men.
He walked back to the bedroom to take another look at the sleeping woman. She was still in a deep sleep. Turning, he closed the door, planning to leave. Since she was fine, there was no reason for him to stay.
