Chapter 2: Whiskey, Wounds, and a Slap

I need a drink. So I head to the bar. Ever since marrying Autumn, I rarely get to enjoy this kind of leisure. After work, I always have to rush home to keep her company, or she’ll accuse me of not loving her enough to even spend time with her.

The bar is dimly lit. Just the way I like it. The kind of place where nobody asks questions and the bartender knows when to leave you alone. I sink into a booth, nursing a bourbon, letting the burn remind me I’m still alive. The jukebox plays old country songs about heartbreak and loss, and for once, I feel like the lyrics actually fit.

I can’t help it. I keep drinking. Thinking about how all my efforts these past two years have become a joke, I down drink after drink. My mind gets fuzzier and fuzzier. Before I pass out, I set down my glass and stagger out of the bar.

The night air is cool, sobering. I breathe deep, trying to clear my head. I fumble for my phone, squinting at the screen as I try to call a rideshare. My steps are unsteady, but I keep moving, determined not to end the night face-down on a sticky bar floor.

Of all people. At the door, I run into my intern, Lila Moreno. We both freeze in surprise. She’s in a short-sleeved dress, wearing heavy makeup. I never expected the girl who stammers through every conversation at work to look like a different person after hours.

I barely recognize her. Her hair’s loose, lips painted a bold red, heels clicking on the sidewalk. I blink, trying to reconcile this version of Lila with the shy assistant who can barely look me in the eye during meetings.

She sounds worried. Too worried. “Mr. Whitaker, are you drunk?” Lila steps up to support me. “Let me take you home.”

She slips an arm under mine. I shake her off. I don’t need this. She presses herself close. “No need, I called a rideshare.”

I’m not in the mood. I try to pull away, but she holds on for a second longer than necessary. My words come out slurred, but I make myself clear. I don’t want any more complications tonight.

Her voice is small, almost hurt. Lila lowers her head. When she speaks again, it’s tinged with grievance. “Mr. Whitaker, do you really have to treat me like I’m poisonous? What’s so great about Autumn anyway? She’s always causing drama—how do you even put up with her?”

I see the hurt in her eyes. Her words sting, but not for the reasons she thinks. I realize she’s been waiting for a moment like this, hoping I’ll finally see her.

I shut down. My expression turns cold. “Don’t say things like that again. I’m still married.”

She’s made her intentions clear. Lila’s been working with me for three months, and she’s made these kinds of insinuations at least ten times. Her intentions couldn’t be clearer.

It’s not subtle. Not at all. I remember every lingering glance, every awkward compliment, every time she lingered a little too long at my desk. I sigh, wishing things could be simple for once.

Just then, my phone buzzes. She bites her lip, eyes brimming with tears. The driver calls. I ignore her and get in the car.

Saved by the bell. The phone buzzes insistently in my pocket, a welcome distraction. I slide into the back seat, avoiding her gaze. The car smells like pine air freshener and old leather—strangely comforting after the chaos of the night.

She’s not giving up. By the time we reach my apartment complex, Lila’s still right behind me. As I face her, she suddenly hugs me. “Miles, I just can’t stop worrying about you.”

But I’m not interested. She’s persistent, I’ll give her that. Her arms wrap around me, desperate and trembling. I feel the weight of her need, the way she clings as if I’m the last solid thing in her world.

Didn’t see that coming. I’m about to pry her fingers off when Autumn storms over and slaps her across the face. She glares at me furiously. “No wonder you want a divorce. So there’s already a little girl throwing herself at you.”

Lila reels back, stunned. The slap echoes in the night, sharp and sudden. Lila recoils, hand pressed to her cheek, eyes wide with shock. Autumn’s fury is a force of nature—loud, messy, impossible to ignore. She rounds on me, eyes blazing.

Neighbors peek through their blinds. The scene devolves into chaos. Lila covers her face, eyes downcast. Autumn, after her anger, starts crying again. She drags me home, demanding to know if I’ve been involved with Lila. I shake my head and say no. She doesn’t believe me.