Chapter 8. A Spark of Feeling

At the dim end of the bar, Mr. Hawthorne sat alone, floating in silence, his fingers tracing the emptiness of his beer glass. The dim lights enveloped him with a light that didn’t fully warm him.

Theodore stepped inside, his eyes sweeping across the silent room. It was already 10 PM, but Mr. Hawthorne remained steadfast in his solitude. Seeing him now made Theodore feel the weight of the man’s burdens.

“Is this bar open?”

Theodore’s attention was drawn to a couple approaching the bar.

“It looks open, but why is it so quiet at this hour?”

A bartender appeared to block their way. “I’m sorry, but the bar has been fully booked for tonight,” he said politely.

“Really? That’s a shame,” said the woman with a disappointed look.

The eyes of the disappointed couple suddenly turned to Theodore, who was standing not far from them.

“Are you the one who booked it?” asked the man.

Faced with the sharp question, Theodore seemed confused about how to explain his situation. “Well, I...”

“We’ve been planning to come here for a long time, but you booked it on my girlfriend’s birthday.” The disappointment was clear on the man’s face.

Theodore bowed politely. “I’m sorry for ruining your moment.”

“Who does he think he is? Makes me want to yell at him,” the man muttered angrily.

“Honey... we can find another place. Let’s just go,” said the woman, trying to calm her partner.

After the couple left, the bartender approached Theodore with a regretful expression. “Sorry for the unpleasant incident, Mr. Bennett.”

Theodore nodded, smiling gently in response. With careful steps, he decided to approach Mr. Hawthorne, who was still lost in his own thoughts.

Mr. Hawthorne noticed Theodore’s presence and said, “I didn’t ask you to come.”

“It was my own initiative.”

“Want a drink?” asked Mr. Hawthorne without turning around.

“No, Mr. Hawthorne. I came to remind you about the time. Shouldn’t you finish up and head home?” Theodore’s voice was filled with concern.

Mr. Hawthorne sneered. “I don’t remember hiring you to forbid me from doing this or that,” he said, taking another slow sip of his beer.

“I wouldn’t dare forbid you, Mr. Hawthorne. It’s just a suggestion. You can’t go to tomorrow’s meeting in a drunken state.”

Mr. Hawthorne ignored Theodore’s words and ordered another beer. Theodore looked desperate, finding it wasn’t as easy as he thought to get his boss to leave.

The silence returned, with Mr. Hawthorne remaining silent. Until at one point, he seemed to remember something and hoped to find the answer from Mr. Hawthorne.

“Mr. Hawthorne, I’ve been wanting to ask this since earlier today but didn’t get the chance. You said you were going home to check on Miss Everhart. How is she doing now? Has she improved?”

Hearing the woman’s name, Mr. Hawthorne paused. He sighed as he stood up, causing confusion on Theodore’s face.

“Are you going to the restroom?”

“I forgot.”

“Forgot... what?” Theodore struggled to find the answer, then said, “Your schedule is well-organized, I’ve checked it multiple times. Everything went smoothly today, and nothing was forgotten.”

“What time is it?” asked Mr. Hawthorne suddenly.

Theodore glanced at his watch and replied slowly, “Almost eleven o’clock.”

Mr. Hawthorne rubbed his face as if trying to wake himself up. “I’m going home now.”

Before Theodore could speak, Mr. Hawthorne had already stepped out of the bar. He could only watch in confusion before understanding the situation. Mr. Hawthorne had been at the bar since the afternoon until nearly midnight. Ms. Ramsey's schedule only lasted until the afternoon. In other words, Jasmine had been alone in the penthouse for quite a while.

***

Mr. Hawthorne roughly pulled at his collar as he crossed the threshold. Memories of the past turned the cool night air into heat. His strength was still sufficient to handle alcohol, so he didn't go home in a heavily drunk state.

His gaze focused on the room upstairs, showing no signs of activity. Without wanting to linger, he headed straight for his room on the upper floor. Upon arrival, he was surprised not to see anyone. He quickly left the room and began searching for Jasmine, assuming she had gone to bed earlier.

"Miss Everhart."

After just one call, Mr. Hawthorne realized who he was. He stopped in the middle of the room, folding his arms. "I don't want to go to the trouble of looking for you. You come out of hiding and come to me. Did you hear that?"

Time passed for several minutes after Mr. Hawthorne spoke, but Jasmine still did not appear. He sighed deeply and spoke again, "You don't want me to be harsh with you, right? So come out before my patience runs out."

The sound of movement from the direction of the kitchen island caught Mr. Hawthorne's attention, and there he found the person he was looking for.

Mr. Hawthorne sneered. "Are you hiding to eat ice cream again?" he asked, approaching Jasmine, who was still standing in place with her head bowed.

As he got closer, Mr. Hawthorne noticed something else; there was a lot of broken glass on the floor.

Mr. Hawthorne surveyed the situation closely, his eyebrows raising. "Again, are you thinking of ending your life?"

"I..."

Jasmine fell silent for a moment, staring at the shattered glass on the floor in confusion, searching for an explanation for the sudden complexity of the situation.

Earlier, Jasmine had felt thirsty and intended to get a drink. Her elbow accidentally hit the edge of the table, causing her arm to go limp, and she crouched down, clutching the pain. Shortly after, she heard the door open, sure that it was Mr. Hawthorne.

"It's not what you think. I just accidentally broke your glass," Jasmine said defensively.

The gesture of rubbing her elbow as if she'd just had a stroke of bad luck made Mr. Hawthorne believe her. He opened his arms, which confused Jasmine.

"What do you want?" Jasmine asked warily.

"Jump to me, I'll catch you."

Jasmine understood that his words were spoken because the broken glass could harm her if she moved, but...

"It's better if you find a broom to clean this up."

"I don't know where the broom is."

Jasmine's forehead furrowed, her expression full of disbelief. A cynical smile graced her lips. "I forgot you're a rich man," she muttered.

"Hurry up," Mr. Hawthorne urged impatiently, shaking his hands. "I'll count to three. One, two—"

On the second count, Jasmine managed to jump into Mr. Hawthorne's arms. Her eyes closed briefly, and when she felt his grip tighten around her, her awareness returned.

Mr. Hawthorne's silence made Jasmine curious to know what he was doing. Slowly, she lifted her head and created a distance between them. Mr. Hawthorne's face looked quite red. Was it this red before? Jasmine hadn't paid much attention.

"Mr. Hawthorne?"

"Miss Everhart."

"Yes?" Jasmine reflexively responded.

"You make my heart race."

Mr. Hawthorne's words brought a sense of intimacy, making Jasmine's heart beat faster. "W—what?"

"You should have jumped on the third count." Mr. Hawthorne suddenly pushed Jasmine away, dispelling the intimate atmosphere in an instant.