Chapter 777

The transparent liquor bottle bore no label, its contents shimmering with an amber-tinged crimson hue under the lamplight—lighter than red wine yet more luminous.

The client poured himself a generous glass and downed it in one gulp.

Alexander Hamilton accepted the offered tumbler, lifting it to his nose. The pungent aroma assaulted his senses—nothing like wine’s mellow richness. His brow furrowed, remembering his morning promise to Evelyn.

"Don’t worry, Mr. Hamilton. Low alcohol content—your wife won’t scold you." The client winked, the knowing smirk of a seasoned drinker.

Glasses rose around the table.

Trapped by etiquette, Alexander took a measured sip. Ice-cold liquor seared his throat like liquid fire, pooling molten in his stomach. The mercifully mild afterburn eased his tension slightly.

The seafood restaurant Emily Zade booked specialized in raw marinated dishes. Briny ocean scents rose from platters of crab and shellfish, but Alexander only touched the congee before him.

Instead, the nameless liquor kept flowing. Early spring’s chill dissipated as warmth crept through his limbs. Alcohol loosened the knots in his chest until he’d drunk more than intended.

The dinner ended earlier than planned. Clients departed arm-in-arm, colleagues collected by spouses. Soon, Alexander stood alone beneath the restaurant’s awning.

He should’ve called a driver. But the distant constellation of glowing windows rooted him to the spot. Behind those illuminated panes, not a single light waited for his return.

Liquor stripped away his polished facade. He collapsed onto a bench, letting night winds scatter the alcohol’s grasp.

His phone shattered the silence.

Not Evelyn.

Emily’s update on the merger acquisition came rapid-fire. Alexander accelerated his responses to double speed: "...retain the tech team, freeze other positions..."

"Sir, is your dinner concluded?"

"Yes." He hung up mid-sentence, pulse hammering at his temples.

Emily immediately dialed Evelyn.

Upstairs, Evelyn played building blocks with Baby Chloe. The caller ID tightened her chest.

"Mrs. Hamilton, apologies for the late interruption."

Her fingers clenched the phone. "Is Alexander hurt?"

"The CEO overindulged. I’m currently out of town..."

When the location ping arrived, Chloe was babbling at a family photo in her picture book. Evelyn knelt, brushing the toddler’s cheek. "I’m fetching your godfather. Stay with Grandma, yes?"

The child blinked, then chirped: "Dada!"

Margaret Hamilton and Grace Anderson exchanged glances.

"She’s claiming Alexander as father," Margaret murmured. "So young to understand loss..."

Grace gathered the girl. "Go. She’s clever—knows you’ll return."

Evelyn found Alexander slumped on the bench. Ash snowed his coat hem, a spent cigarette nearly scorching his fingers. Eyes closed, he might’ve been asleep.

"Wake up." She jostled his shoulder. "Sleep at home."

The night wind carried spring’s lingering bite, stirring his lashes like frost-tipped reeds.