CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Chelsea

He should've have taken a selfie with him. That came to his realization after sulking for about three hours on his bed, the bloody Mary stained pillow in his arms, and a glass of lime juice on the bedside drawer. The glass was filled, almost to the brim which was as a result of his pent up frustration after the meeting with Arc. Archer.

He groaned out. He'd been so annoyed for reasons he couldn't think off. But he'd hated being ignored. Like he wasn't noticeable in the supreme eyes of Archer Blackwood. Like he didn't exist around him when it wasn't the same for Chelsea. Arc's presence overwhelmed and he didn't understand why. He was as tall as a tree when exaggerated a little, and he had a quiet ambience around him that unsettled Chelsea.

And he had limited time since he'd blurted out that he was doing a live session with Arc and the week was almost over. Talk about hashtag epic fail.

His stomach churned at the thought of losing the