Chapter 59

Chapter 59

Matilda's POV

"Ms. Hamilton? What's wrong?" The door was gently pushed open, and Uma's worried face peered in. Seeing me sitting on the floor in such a disheveled state, she immediately pushed the door wider and hurried over to crouch beside me. "Did Ms. Williams have another episode? Don't take it to heart. She's probably just still hurting and upset because her injuries haven't healed."

Looking at Uma's concerned eyes, the last thread holding my mind together finally snapped. I threw myself into her arms and burst into tears. "Uma, I... I don't know what to do. I'm so confused, so scared..." I sobbed incoherently, not knowing where to even begin.

How could I tell Uma that all of this started simply because I wanted a higher-paying job, and somehow it had all spiraled into this unrecognizable mess?

Uma gently patted my back, murmuring softly, "It's okay, it's okay. Let it out. Everything will pass."

Irene suddenly rushed in. "Uma, Ms. Williams just ran out! She looked really agitated—we couldn't stop her!"

Uma's expression changed. She immediately urged Irene, "Get someone to follow her! Don't let anything happen to her! Go, quickly!"

"Yes!" Irene immediately turned and ran out.

Uma helped me up, trying to get me back onto the bed. But I stared blankly at this room—beautifully decorated and comfortable, yet utterly unfamiliar and distant—and the intense unease in my heart only grew worse.

This house was beautiful and safe, but it wasn't mine. This house couldn't give me any sense of security. I didn't want to stay here anymore! Not another minute, not another second!

I suddenly pushed away Uma's supporting hands and, ignoring the piercing pain in my ankle, struggled to my feet, slipped on my slippers, and stumbled toward the door.

"Ms. Hamilton! Where are you going? Your foot!" Uma cried out, chasing after me, trying to stop me.

"Leave me alone! Let me go!" I shook off her hand and limped out of the room, stumbling down the stairs.

"Ms. Hamilton! Wait!"

Ignoring the pain in my ankle, I rushed out the villa's front door without looking back. But I didn't know where to go. I could only drag my injured foot, limping along.

"Ms. Hamilton!" Rhys's voice came from behind me. He drove up alongside me. "Where are you going? Let me take you. Walking like this will only make your foot worse."

I covered my ears and walked faster. I don't know how long I walked before a bar with flickering neon signs suddenly appeared in front of me. I looked up at the garish sign, and an idea suddenly popped into my head.

Right. Alcohol. I needed alcohol to numb this chaotic mess in my head. I needed to forget everything that happened tonight.

I turned around, pushed open the heavy soundproof door, and rushed inside. I headed straight for the booth closest to the bar and said hoarsely to the bartender, "Give me drinks. The strongest you've got."

The bartender glanced at me, didn't ask questions, and quickly pushed over a row of drinks in various colors. I grabbed one and tilted my head back, downing it. The fiery liquid burned from my throat all the way to my stomach, making me cough violently, tears and snot streaming down my face.

But I didn't care. I grabbed the second glass, the third...

"Ms. Hamilton! Stop drinking!" Rhys finally fought his way through the crowded space. Seeing me like this, his face went pale with alarm. He stepped forward, trying to grab the glass from my hand.

"Get away!" I violently knocked his hand away.

Rhys froze at my fierce glare, hesitating before letting go. I brought the reclaimed glass back to my lips and drained it in one gulp. One after another... When they were all gone, I didn't wait for more mixed drinks. I just grabbed a bottle of hard liquor and tilted it back, chugging straight from the bottle.

Soon, the world started spinning. The bar's psychedelic lights began to twist and swirl in my vision, the loud music becoming more and more muffled. I slid weakly off the sofa, kneeling on the floor, leaning against the edge of the cold coffee table, feeling like the entire world was rocking.

So dizzy... so sick...

Suddenly, a clean hand reached over and gently gripped the bottle in my hand.

"Get lost!" I yanked hard, trying to shake off that hand, but couldn't. I could only clutch the bottle tightly, choking out through tears, "This is my booze! I paid for it! If you want some, buy your own!"

The hand's owner was silent for a moment. Then I heard a helpless chuckle from above. "This is the first time I've seen you like this."

I struggled to lift my head, squinting through my drunken haze. In my blurred vision was the outline of a man in a dark suit—tall, blocking the harsh lights overhead. I couldn't see his face clearly, but something about his silhouette felt strangely familiar.

"Who are you?" I slurred. "You know me? Coming over here to judge me?"

He seemed to laugh softly again, but his tone sounded more serious. "Not judging you," he said slowly. "Blaming myself for not understanding you well enough. I didn't realize your financial situation was even tighter than I thought—you won't even share your drinks?"

His tone was strange, teasing, but with something else hidden beneath. But under the influence of alcohol, I couldn't think straight. I was only stung by the word "tight."

I said nothing, lowering my head, reaching for more alcohol.

"Stop drinking. You're already drunk." That hand reached over again, gently pressing down on my arm.

"Don't tell me what to do!" I tried to struggle free, but he held me tighter.

This feeling of being controlled—the thing I hated most—instantly shattered what little rationality I had left. I burst into tears.

"You know I'm broke and you're still stealing my booze! This alcohol... I can't even afford to drink it normally! I'm already this pathetic, and you're still bullying me..." I sobbed uncontrollably, coughing violently.

The hand on my arm paused. Then I felt it move to my back, patting awkwardly but gently.

"Don't cry. I'm not bullying you." That low, pleasant voice carried an almost indulgent gentleness. "I'm not here to steal your drinks. I came to take you home."

Home?

I choked out through my tears, asking blankly, "Home? What home do I have? My dad sold our house to pay off his gambling debts years ago. I haven't had a home in forever."

The hand patting my back suddenly stopped. After a few seconds of silence, the voice spoke again. "I'll take you back to where you're staying."

"I'm not going back!" I refused without thinking, shaking my head hard. I shrank back, curling into myself. "That's not my home! That's someone else's house! I'm not going back there!"