Chapter 248
Chapter 248
Sophia had dressed casually tonight—no makeup, nothing fancy—but under the streetlamp, her delicate features glowed pale and luminous, radiating an understated kind of beauty.
She recoiled in disgust, sidestepping to go around him.
The man lurched into her path again.
"Playing hard to get? A woman alone at a place like this in the middle of the night, dressed all plain like that—some old guy's keeping you, right? What's the matter, your sugar daddy couldn't satisfy you tonight?"
The words were vile and degrading, hitting her like a slap.
Sophia stopped. Her gaze went ice-cold. "Move. Now."
"Move?" The man threw his head back laughing. "That's hilarious!"
He reached for her face, his tone dripping with arrogance. "Money's the one thing I've got plenty of! Spend the night with me—name your price. I'll pay ten times whatever that old man behind you is shelling out!"
His groping hand clamped down hard on Sophia's wrist, yanking her toward him.
"Let go!"
Nausea surged through her.
Her eyes turned lethal. She wrenched her wrist free and drove the heel of her stiletto straight into his shin without mercy.
The man howled, clutching his leg, staggering back.
"You're dead!"
That kick unleashed the full rage of a violent drunk.
His face twisted into something grotesque. Arms wide, he lunged at her again, about to pin her in a crushing grip.
Sophia's pupils contracted. She tried to run, but he was too fast—
She squeezed her eyes shut and threw her arms up to shield herself.
The impact never came.
A tall, imposing figure materialized out of nowhere.
One long leg swept through the air, and a devastating kick connected squarely with the drunk's chest, launching him a good ten feet backward.
A trash can toppled. The man lay face-down on the pavement, coughing and retching violently.
Sophia looked up, heart still hammering.
Under the dim amber glow of the streetlamp, Gerald stood in front of her.
He radiated a terrifying menace, his gaze locked on the writhing figure on the ground, his presence so oppressive it was hard to breathe.
The drunk opened his mouth to curse, but the instant he looked up and met Gerald's savage black eyes, the alcohol drained from his system.
"Mr. Churchill!"
The man's face went chalk-white. He scrambled to his feet on all fours and bolted.
In seconds, he was gone.
Silence crashed down around them.
Gerald slowly turned to face Sophia.
He'd been at a business dinner nearby. He'd spotted her car and followed on instinct.
He hadn't expected to walk into this.
If he'd been one second later—
The thought made his voice drop dangerously low. "Sophia, it's the middle of the night. What the hell are you doing at a place like this alone?"
His voice yanked her back to reality.
Sophia looked at him, composure snapping back into place.
She pressed her lips together. Without sparing him a single word, she walked straight past Gerald and into the bar, heels clicking sharply.
"Sophia!"
That look she'd given him—like he was nothing, like he was trash—drove a spike of pain through his chest.
He clenched his jaw and followed her inside without hesitation.
Inside the bar, the bass was loud enough to shatter eardrums.
Sophia scanned the main floor, then headed toward the private rooms.
Just then, Gerald's phone buzzed in his jacket.
He was going to ignore it. Then he saw the name on the screen, and his steps faltered.
He glanced at Sophia, then pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation and answered.
Hazel's frantic voice poured through the speaker the instant he picked up.
"Gerald, Claire's at Dusk Bar—she was out with clients and drank too much. She's in a private room crying and calling your name. Please come check on her. I'm terrified something will happen."
Gerald's expression darkened instantly.
He looked at Sophia's retreating figure ahead, then at the phone still pressed to his ear, Hazel's pleas still pouring out. Finally, his voice went cold.
"Got it. I'm on my way."
He hung up. His long stride carried him to Sophia's side in seconds.
As he passed her, he glanced at her instinctively—as if he wanted to explain something.
In the end, he only pressed his lips into a tight line, turned, and disappeared into a VIP room on the left side of the corridor.
Sophia didn't spare him so much as a glance from the corner of her eye.
Gerald's departure didn't create even a ripple inside her.
Where Claire was, who Gerald went to comfort—what did any of it have to do with her?
She turned, expression perfectly composed, and pushed open the door to a private room on the right.
Inside, Austin had already thrown up once and was slumped on the couch, completely drained.
Sophia walked over and patiently helped him sit up.
Austin was thoroughly wasted but still semiconscious. He mumbled "Sophia" and let most of his weight collapse onto her shoulder.
Sophia braced herself under him and guided him out of the room, one labored step at a time.
They'd barely reached the middle of the hallway when the door to the opposite room swung open.
Sophia looked up instinctively.
Gerald was carefully supporting Claire as she emerged.
Claire's usually sweet, innocent face was flushed crimson from the alcohol, tear tracks glistening on her cheeks. She hung on Gerald like she had no bones left, both hands fisting the front of his shirt, sobbing pathetically.
"Gerald... Gerald, don't leave... I'm so scared..."
Gerald's arms were stiff around her shoulders.
At Claire's cries, he looked up reflexively at Sophia across the hall. A flash of panic crossed his eyes.
But his hands didn't stop. He murmured to the woman in his arms, "I'll take you home."
The words carried clearly to Sophia's ears.
How ironic.
What a gentle, considerate Gerald.
Four years ago, when Claire had set her up, when the entire Churchill family pointed fingers and screamed at her—had Gerald ever once said anything like that to her?
All he'd done was watch with cold indifference. Or worse—demand she apologize.
Sophia withdrew her gaze, shifted direction, and half-carried Austin toward the bar's exit.
---
At one in the morning, Sophia pulled up outside Austin's apartment building.
She killed the engine and struggled to get his limp body upstairs.
She unlocked his door, half-carried, half-dragged him into the bedroom, and settled him onto the bed.
Looking at his face—dead drunk, completely disoriented, but at least home safe—she finally exhaled.
When it was all done, she didn't linger. She locked Austin's door behind her and got back in the car.
The car pulled away slowly, heading home.