Chapter 17
Vivienne’s glass slid across the bar counter with a sharp push, her fingers unsteady as she mumbled, “I’m out. Refill it. And don’t bother with the weak stuff this time. I want the strongest mix you’ve got.”
The bartender, a young man who couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, raised an eyebrow, his expression torn between concern and exasperation.
“Are you sure you don’t have someone to call?” he asked, cautiously studying her disheveled state. “You’re in no condition to be out alone like this.”
“Call who?” Vivienne replied with a hollow laugh. “No one’s waiting for me. My kids are at a sleepover in the daycare. There’s no one else.”
“You’ll need to head home eventually,” he countered, pouring another drink despite his hesitation.
She picked up the glass and took a sip before her lips curled into a scowl. “What is this? Did you seriously give me soda?” she snapped. “This isn’t what I asked for!”
The bartender sighed, visibly nearing the end of his patience. “Miss, I don’t know what’s happened to you, but you’ve had too much already. I’m not sure another drink is the answer.”
Vivienne ignored him, her mind clouded by the weight of guilt and sorrow. The image of Lucas’s small, lifeless body haunted her, a constant reminder of her failure. He had been so young, not much older than her twins, Jayden and Jayla. She had done everything she could to save him—or at least she thought she had. But the truth lingered, sharp and painful. She hadn’t been enough.
The sound of his mother’s cries still rang in her ears. The devastation in her eyes when Vivienne had told her Lucas was gone was a memory that wouldn’t leave her.
“Poor woman,” Vivienne whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek. “I should’ve tried harder. I shouldn’t have let them stop me. I should’ve kept going.”
The bartender’s face softened with sympathy, but he didn’t press her further. Instead, he reluctantly mixed another drink and set it before her. “This is the last one,” he said firmly. “You really shouldn’t have any more.”
Vivienne didn’t argue. She drained the glass in one gulp, the alcohol burning her throat as she swallowed.
The bartender turned away, attending to another customer whose figure caught Vivienne’s eye for a fleeting moment. There was something about the way he sat, the shape of his shoulders—it felt familiar. But she dismissed it, her focus returning to the void in front of her.
The haze of alcohol blurred her thoughts, the edges of her reality softening as she leaned into the sensation.
“Vivienne.”
The voice was unmistakable, yet she didn’t react, convinced her ears were playing tricks on her.
“Vivienne,” the voice came again, this time closer.
She turned her head, and there he was—Magnus.
Effortlessly handsome as always, he sat beside her, his sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms that seemed carved from marble. His dark eyes were focused on her, a mixture of concern and something deeper swirling within them.
“What do you want?” she slurred, her words dripping with irritation.
Magnus didn’t flinch. “You don’t look well. Did something happen?”
Vivienne scoffed, her head tilting back in exasperation. “What are you even doing here? Don’t act like you care, Magnus. We both know you don’t. Just drink your liquor and leave me alone.”
“I care more than you think,” he said softly. “Let me take you home. You shouldn’t be here like this.”
“I don’t need your help!” she snapped, attempting to wave him off but barely managing to keep her balance. “I’m fine. Go mind your own business.”
Magnus didn’t budge. “You’re far from fine, Vivienne. I’m not leaving you here like this.”
His calm, steady tone only added fuel to her frustration. “Oh, so now you decide to be the hero? Where was this version of you when I needed you the most?”
“We can talk about this later,” he said, his voice unwavering. “But right now, I’m taking you home. Please.”
She glared at him, but her drunken state robbed her of the energy to fight. Reluctantly, she allowed him to help her to her feet, his arm steady around her waist as he led her out of the bar.
Magnus’s touch sent a warmth through her that she hated herself for feeling.
“What about my car?” she mumbled as they stepped into the parking lot.
“I’ll have someone bring it back later,” he assured her. “For now, you’re riding with me.”
She didn’t argue, letting him guide her into his car and buckle her seatbelt.
“I didn’t ask for this,” she muttered as her head leaned back against the seat.
“I know,” Magnus replied. “But I couldn’t just leave you there.”
The drive to her apartment was quiet, the tension in the air palpable. When they arrived, Magnus got out and opened her door, his movements careful and deliberate.
“Can you walk?” he asked.
She tried to stand but wobbled dangerously. Without a word, Magnus scooped her into his arms.
“Put me down,” she hissed, her voice weak with protest.
“Not until we’re inside,” he said firmly.
When they reached her apartment, she pressed her fingerprint to the door scanner, and it opened with a soft beep. Magnus carried her inside, setting her gently on her feet.
“You can go now,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Magnus didn’t move, his eyes searching hers. The air between them grew heavier, the unspoken tension bubbling to the surface.
And then, without warning, Vivienne kissed him.
For a moment, he froze, but his resolve quickly melted. His hands cupped her face as he kissed her back, the passion between them igniting like a spark to dry kindling.
But then he pulled away, his breathing unsteady. “Vivienne,” he said, his voice strained. “You’re not in the right state of mind.”
“Don’t stop,” she murmured, her eyes dark with desire.
His hesitation wavered, and with a soft growl, he pulled her back into another heated kiss, letting the moment consume them both.