Half a month later, Ryan finally came home.
He reeked of alcohol, his eyes unfocused, and his face flushed a deep crimson.
He slipped off his shoes and slumped onto the sofa. Only then did his gaze drift over to me, standing by the study door with a glass of water.
"You're still awake?"
Lately, I had been burying myself in work to keep my mind off his betrayal, desperate to keep the encroaching despair at bay.
"Clara, my head is splitting from all the drinking," Ryan groaned, leaning his head back. "Chloe is just too soft-spoken and sweet. She doesn't know how to refuse when people press her to drink, so I had to cover for her. Come massage my head."
Tonight, Ryan had used his status as the heir of the Smiths to take Chloe to a business dinner, helping her secure a role in a TV serie
