Josei’s Point of View
’The room was thick with the smell of alcohol in the dead of night.
I sat slumped on the carpet with my back against the bed, pouring glass after glass of strong whiskey down my throat and letting it burn through me like sulfuric acid, scorching everything inside.
My makeup was ruined. My clothes hung crooked on my body. My loose hair clung to my face, tangled with my tears.
His words kept replaying in my head: "You have to forgive me. This marriage alliance with the Hawthorne family was unavoidable. I promise that once the ranch's financial problems are solved, I'll find a way to divorce Scarlett Hawthorne. Just endure it for now. Wait for me. Trust me!"
Wyatt Callahan had said that to me twenty-eight hours ago.
Today, he got married!
To hell with "unavoidable"!
"Liar! Wyatt Callahan, you big liar!" The tears came pouring out again.
I came to the Callahan family at ten years old as a child bride, and for thirteen whole years I was devoted to him, heart and soul. I never so much as glanced at another man. I thought we would grow old together. And what did I get? He married another woman in a flash, without a word.
Even a death sentence comes with a stay of execution. He could at least have given me that.
The thought of him in the next room, holding his bride and making love to her, made my heart burn even hotter.
I would never believe he wasn't touching that woman. "Unavoidable"? He was probably having the time of his life right now.
The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. Why should I be crying here like a pitiful wretch while he enjoyed the warmth and softness of his beauty?
If I wasn't going to have a good night, neither was he.
With my mind scorched by whiskey, my usual rationality had long since been thrown to the dogs.
I tossed the glasses aside and staggered to my feet, dizzy and light-headed. Barefoot, I weaved out of the room in a zigzag, steadying myself against the wall until I reached the room next door. I leaned against the door and knocked: "Open up. Open the door for me!"
No one came for a long time.
Ignoring me, is he?
Wyatt Callahan, you forced me to this. Don't blame me for not saving your pride. I gripped the handle and gave it a light twist, and the door opened.
It was dim inside, lit only by a single bedside lamp. I stumbled in and headed straight for the bed. Through my drunken haze, I saw a tall, lean figure lying on its side.
"Hey, get up. Wyatt Callahan, get up!" I grabbed his sleeve and yanked at him.
The man in the bed furrowed his long brows in his sleep.
I pulled for ages and couldn't budge him, so I simply climbed onto the bed, plopped myself down on top of him like a wild mustang, grabbed his neck, and shook him wildly: "Are you getting up or not? Get up!"
The drunk man, sound asleep, was finally jolted awake. He pulled me off his body, flipped over, and pinned me down.
“What the fuck is this?!” he roared. Then suddenly, his palm traveled down my stomach down to my curves and suddenly stopped on my breast.
"Huff... huff..." I gasped for breath. My eyes were blocked by my messy hair, but I could faintly make out thin lips beneath a high, straight nose.
I could feel his strong, warm body and the crisp scent of tobacco on his breath.
In my daze, my mind turned him into Wyatt.
I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulled him down, and lightly brushed his thin lips. "Kiss me!"
He froze for a moment. Even that feather-light kiss was unexpectedly soft. Testing the waters, he pressed down harder on my lips and pried them open. One small taste and he couldn't stop.
Now that his mouth was rich with the scent of whiskey because of me, it was suddenly unbelievably sweet.