Chapter 164
Catherine was absolutely fuming, downing one glass of wine after another until her mind began to blur.
Cecil watched her with resignation written across his face.
"Catherine, do you even realize what you're doing?" he asked.
Catherine's face twisted with impatience. "God, this is so annoying!"
Her mind was still consumed with anger at Philip. That bastard had gone to a hotel room with Emma. Fine, whatever, but then he had the audacity to call and bother her.
Cecil quickly intercepted Catherine's hand as she reached for another wine glass. "Catherine, you really need to stop drinking," he said, his voice gentle.
Catherine tilted her head, her delicate face flushed with intoxication.
She grabbed Cecil's tie with surprising force, yanking him closer. Despite her drunken state, her strength was considerable. Cecil nearly crashed into her face before steadying himself.
Catherine stared at Cecil and smirked. "Cecil, why are you getting so close?"
Cecil looked at her, caught between amusement and restraint.
This drunk Catherine was actually quite entertaining.
He glanced down at her hand still clutching his tie and said softly, "How about I take you home?"
At those words, Catherine's eyes immediately reddened. "Home? I don't have a home."
Seeing that Catherine was about to cry, Cecil quickly raised his hand to cover her eyes, feeling utterly helpless—there was no reasoning with someone this drunk.
He felt moisture against his palm; she was genuinely crying, and with such vulnerability.
Something tugged at Cecil's heart. Just as he was about to pull Catherine into his arms for comfort, someone forcefully pushed his arm away.
Philip stood there, his eyes ice-cold as he swept Catherine up from her seat.
Catherine, suddenly lifted, looked bewildered. She shouted at Philip, "Who are you?"
"Your boyfriend," Philip replied coldly, barely containing his fury.
Hearing his voice, Catherine grabbed Philip's collar and peered up at him.
Philip removed his suit jacket and draped it over Catherine's shoulders, covering her exposed waist.
"Philip!" Catherine exclaimed with delight. "It really is you!"
Philip had no desire to waste words with a drunk woman. He ignored her, focusing only on getting her home quickly.
Cecil rose lazily from his barstool. "Mr. Foster, if she's too much trouble, I'd be happy to take her home."
Hearing this, Philip's eyes flashed with murderous intent. "Who the hell do you think you are?"
He was Catherine's boyfriend; Cecil had no right to interfere in their relationship.
Philip bent down and lifted Catherine in his arms, preparing to leave.
As they passed Cecil, Philip growled, "I'm warning you—stay away from her."
With that, he carried Catherine toward the exit.
Cecil narrowed his eyes and stepped into Philip's path. "And what if I refuse to back off?"
Just as tensions were escalating, Chris approached with several men.
Chris gave Philip a meaningful look as his associates surrounded Cecil. "You go ahead," he said.
Philip carried Catherine out, seething with anger. If she hadn't been there, he would have gladly fought with Cecil.
Cecil had been getting increasingly arrogant lately.
As Philip carried Catherine out of the bar, Cecil tried to follow but was effectively blocked by Chris's men.
Cecil rolled up his shirt sleeves, ready for confrontation.
Chris leaned casually against the bar. "Cecil, didn't peg you for the girlfriend-stealing type."
Cecil scoffed. "I couldn't care less about ethics."
Chris clicked his tongue. "You young people are so difficult."
Cecil impatiently retorted, "Enough talk. If you want to fight, let's fight!"
Chris smirked.
With a wave of his hand, his men began advancing on Cecil with their weapons ready.
Meanwhile, Philip placed Catherine in the passenger seat of his car.
As he attempted to fasten her seatbelt, Catherine pushed him away.
"What are you doing?" she slurred.
Philip cursed under his breath. "Catherine, you'd better behave yourself!"
He was already furious with nowhere to direct his anger.
Catherine squinted, trying to focus. "Who are you, exactly?"
"Philip!" he answered irritably, holding her shoulders firmly to keep her from squirming in the seat.
Catherine suddenly began to cry and make a scene. "You're lying! Philip is in Emma's bed!"
Philip stared at her in confusion.
What was she talking about?
He turned her face toward him, making her look at him. "How could I possibly be in Emma's bed?"
He wondered silently how she knew about his hotel meeting with Emma.
"I have photographic evidence!" Catherine declared indignantly, clumsily searching her body for her phone but failing to locate it.
"Where's my phone?" Catherine grew increasingly frantic. "Where did my phone go?"
Philip caught her fumbling hands and sighed. "Stop looking."
He softened his voice to placate her. "There's nothing between Emma and me. I'll explain everything when you're sober tomorrow."
Catherine pouted, her eyes red-rimmed. "You're always lying!"
Philip leaned closer to her face and kissed her gently. "I'm not lying to you."
Catherine sat there with her mind in disarray, staring blankly ahead.
Philip quickly fastened her seatbelt and closed the door.
Settling into the driver's seat, he glanced at Catherine once more before starting the car.
She sat quietly, her eyes reddened, tears suddenly streaming down her cheeks.
Philip paused, then grabbed tissues from the car and wiped her tears. "Why are you crying?"
He couldn't bear to see Catherine cry—whenever she did, it made his heart ache unbearably.
Catherine sniffled, her tears falling uncontrollably.
Philip tenderly pulled Catherine onto his lap, adjusting the seat to make her more comfortable.
"Baby, look at me."
Catherine's eyes were wide and round, filled with innocence and vulnerability that made Philip's heart flutter.
He gently cradled the back of her head and slowly lowered his face to kiss her lips.
Catherine, thoroughly intoxicated, instinctively allowed her tongue to explore his mouth.
Philip had always appreciated Catherine's initiative—her passionate response now excited him to the point where he longed to make love to her immediately.
They kissed deeply and desperately until Catherine began to struggle for breath. She turned her face away, trying to escape, but Philip refused to let her go, possessively pulling her back into his embrace.
Catherine raised her hands to push against his shoulders in protest.
Philip released her, his breathing ragged. He affectionately nuzzled his nose against her cheek, reluctant to end their intimate moment.
After this passionate exchange, Catherine felt exhausted and drowsy, melting limply against Philip's chest.
Philip gently patted her back as she fell asleep in his arms.
Catherine was only this docile when sleeping, as sweet as a kitten.
Shortly after eleven that night, a black Bentley slowly entered the driveway of the mansion.
After parking, Philip carefully lifted the sleeping Catherine from the passenger seat.
Half-asleep, Catherine could vaguely sense the person carrying her emanated a gentle warmth that filled her with security.
Without opening her eyes, she murmured, "Cecil, thank you for taking me home."
Philip's expression instantly darkened. He was tempted to drop Catherine right there on the spot.
Cecil?
She thought he was Cecil?
So she believed it was Cecil who had been kissing her and holding her?