Chapter 6

Jack

She stood there, unable to meet my gaze, every ounce of dignity and pride she had left hanging by a thread.

I let my eyes roam over her, taking in the faint tremble in her lips, the moisture clinging to her lashes. She was struggling to hold back the tears, but I could see them building, threatening to spill over. She tried to stand tall, shoulders squared, chin up, but I saw through the facade. The cracks were already forming, and I was the one who had widened them.

For a brief second, something sharp twisted in my chest. Guilt? Pity? I didn't care to figure it out. As soon as I felt it, I shoved it down, deep. I couldn't afford to let her see any emotion. Not now. Not ever.

I turned away, giving the bartender my full attention, dismissing her as easily as the fleeting moment of empathy.

"Mix me something strong," I said, my voice even, cold.

The bartender nodded, reaching for the top-shelf whiskey, when I heard her voice, surprisingly firm despite the emotional wreck she was moments ago.

"Make that a double," Samantha said as she slid onto the barstool next to mine.

I raised an eyebrow but couldn't help the chuckle that escaped me. She had nerve. I'll give her that.

The bartender quickly placed two glasses in front of us, filled with amber liquid. We both took a sip, our silence thick with everything left unsaid. Only the sound of glass hitting the counter and the burn of liquor cutting through the tension filled the space between us.

I leaned back in my chair, watching her from the corner of my eye. Samantha sat there, rigid, her fingers clenched around the glass, staring into the drink as if it held the answer to all her problems.

Funny how she'd once been the queen of this city, the one everyone wanted. I remembered those days. Hell, I remembered her. Back then, when her father still ran the business empire, Samantha was the woman everyone talked about, the woman every man wanted, the woman I wanted. I used to watch her from afar, dreaming of the day she'd be mine.

But that day never came. Her father's empire crumbled, her brother ended up in prison for the company's downfall, and in the chaos, Louis swooped in, claiming her for himself. He knew how much I wanted her-hell, he rubbed it in my face every chance he got. And I? I stayed in the shadows, watching as he took what I couldn't. Watching as she became his.

Now she was a shadow of the woman I once knew. Broken. Humiliated. Desperate.

Samantha lifted her glass, her hand shaking ever so slightly, before downing the rest in one harsh gulp. She slammed the glass back onto the counter, the frustration radiating off her like heat from a flame.

"Is this the strongest alcohol you've got?" Her voice cracked as she spoke, thick with a slur. "It's not enough. Just give me the whole damn bottle."

I shook my head. This was a bad idea. She was spiraling, and I couldn't stand by and watch her drown herself in liquor.

"You've had enough, Samantha. No more." I waved the bartender away before he could hand over the bottle.

She let out a bitter laugh, her fingers suddenly grabbing my arm, tight. "What do you care, Mr. Smith? You suddenly growing sympathy for a slut?"

Her words were sharp, dripping with venom, but the grip she had on my arm told me something different. It wasn't just anger; it was desperation, the kind that came from someone at the end of their rope.

I leaned in, my voice low and dangerous. "Watch it, Samantha. You don't know what you're saying."

She laughed again, louder this time, more unhinged. "Oh, I know exactly what I'm saying." She leaned closer, her breath hot against my neck, whiskey laced in every word. "You think you're better than Louis, don't you? That you're different? But you're not. You're all the same."

Her words sparked something inside me. I could feel the anger simmering beneath the surface, but I forced myself to stay calm. She didn't know what she was playing with.

"Is that what you think?" I asked, my voice dropping into a growl. "That I'm just like him?"

Her eyes locked onto mine, glassy and unfocused, but there was something dark in them, something wounded. "I think you're worse," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Because you pretend to care. But deep down, you're just waiting for your chance to take what you want. Just like Louis."

Her accusation hit harder than I expected, but I didn't flinch. Instead, a slow smile crept across my lips. "You really don't know me, do you?"

Her brow furrowed, confusion flickering across her face, but before she could respond, exhaustion overtook her. She slumped against the bar, her hand slipping from my arm.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. I should've walked away. I should've left her here to drown in her misery. But something about her-something in those broken eyes-kept me in place. Maybe it was the memory of the girl she used to be, or maybe it was that flicker of defiance I saw earlier.

I pushed my drink aside, focusing on her instead. "Samantha," I said softly, "you're done for the night. Let me take you home."

Her eyes flicked up to mine, disbelief etched in every line of her face. "Why? You finally considered my offer for your help?"

I shook my head, leaning in until our faces were inches apart. "No. Because you're better than this. And I'm not Louis."

Her lips parted as if to argue, but whatever she was about to say died on her tongue. She looked away, defeated, her shoulders slumping.

I threw some cash on the bar and stood up. "Come on, let's get out of here."

She didn't protest as I slipped my arm around her waist, helping her off the stool. She was too drunk, too tired to resist. I guided her out of the bar, and drove straight to a hotel so she could get some rest .