Chapter 3
Shannon's POV
When I arrived at Twilight Lounge, the private room was buzzing with lively chatter.
Alexander sat lazily at the head of the table with his long legs crossed, a beauty in a slip dress leaning against him on either side.
He shook a dice cup in his hand, looking completely relaxed without a trace of drunkenness.
Standing by the door, a wave of bitterness welled up inside me.
Tara had been right—when had he ever lacked women around him?
Rushing over in the dead of night was purely my own self-delusion.
Just as I was about to back out, Alexander spotted me first.
Instead of ignoring me like thin air as he usually did, he beckoned me over.
"Everyone, my woman is here."
Every pair of eyes in the room turned toward me at once.
Bundled up in a thick winter coat among women showing bare shoulders and legs, I looked completely out of place.
Yet the words "my woman" reached my ears, instantly giving me a surge of courage.
Ever since losing his memory, Alexander had never referred to me like that.
I straightened my back and walked toward him with composure.
A man on the opposite sofa appraised me with a meaningful glance and gave a sinister smirk.
"Now that everyone's here, let's begin."
"As we agreed earlier, whoever wins takes the Horizon project. The rest accept their loss."
Alexander raised his glass and looked my way, agreeing to the man's terms with a smile full of absolute confidence.
Only then did I realize that calling me in the middle of the night had nothing to do with him being too drunk to drive home.
He wanted me to drink on his behalf to seize the Horizon project.
"Haven't you always wanted to be my woman?"
Alexander leaned down close to my ear and murmured in a low voice:
"Win this round for me, secure Horizon, and the debt for losing the child will be wiped clean. I'll allow you to stay by my side."
I couldn't help clenching the hem of my coat.
I had no choice.
I knew Alexander's temper. Losing Amber's baby had indeed damaged his bid for control over the Hayes family.
And right now, Alexander was single-mindedly obsessed with seizing power.
If the matter of the child wasn't put behind us, who knew what methods he would use to torment me next time?
Those leering, grotesque faces from the hospital room still sneered violently in my nightmares. I didn't dare gamble.
Taking a deep breath, I set my resolve.
The crowd immediately cheered and pushed me into the center of the lights.
Seeing this, the woman opposite stood up.
She had a voluptuous figure, her red dress slit up to the hip, and was glaring at me with open provocation.
The long table was packed with glasses, ranging from draft beer to red wine, whisky to champagne.
The finale was hard liquor mixed with beer, the alcohol content ramping up with every round.
A chime sounded, and the competition began.
I picked up a glass of tequila and threw it down my throat.
The burning sensation scorched all the way down to my stomach, but my expression didn't waver as I reached for the next glass.
The woman in red had an astonishing tolerance.
Drinking from draft beer to red wine, then from whisky to champagne, she won nine rounds in a row, her complexion steady and even composed enough to touch up her lipstick.
My face, however, grew paler and paler. Cold sweat trickled down my back, and my legs trembled so badly I could collapse at any moment.
"Is that all?"
The woman in red sneered. "Mr. Hayes, your woman's tolerance isn't much to brag about."
The onlookers exchanged glances and whispered among themselves.
"Looks like Mr. Hayes is going to lose this time."
"If he loses this drinking contest to the Sterling family, Horizon is gone."
"Why would Mr. Hayes entrust such an important project to a woman like her? Does he trust her that much?"
"If she messes up Mr. Hayes's plans tonight, who knows what will become of her!"
Round ten began. Only two glasses of mixed hard liquor and red wine remained on the table—the two with the highest proof.
The woman in red picked up her glass first and downed it in one go.
Putting the glass down, she tilted her chin at me triumphantly.
Yet before long, she threw up violently and was hauled away by bystanders.
The host turned to look at me.
By the rules, as long as I finished this glass and remained standing for three minutes without collapsing or vomiting, I won.
But my hands were trembling so badly I could barely hold the glass steady.
Everyone was convinced I wouldn't be able to swallow it down.
The host spoke up, "Standard rules: after drinking, answer this question: What is the most important day of your life?"
Across the littered table, my gaze cut through the crowd and landed on Alexander.
He leaned there casually, his expression obscured by the dim lighting.
I raised the glass and poured the burning liquid down my throat, already swaying on my feet, consumed by both hatred and heartbreak.
I hated Alexander for always pushing me to the brink just to test me.
If it was something he wanted, I was willing to trade my very life for it, yet he refused to believe me even a fraction.
I even wondered whether he would feel a shred of sorrow if I really drank myself to death at this table tonight.
I was terrified of seeing a negative answer in his eyes, yet I couldn't stop myself from looking.
Because the most important day of my life was that afternoon six years ago—the day I met him.
Even though he broke my heart to pieces later on, that day remained etched into my very soul.
Bracing myself against the table to stay upright, I answered earnestly,
"The most important day was six years ago, the day I met him."
The host loudly declared my victory.
Applause and whistles erupted, but I couldn't hold on any longer and collapsed onto the floor. My stomach churned, burning with agony. Yet no matter how severe the physical misery was, it paled in comparison to the pain in my heart.
No alcohol, no matter how strong, could numb the agony of being forgotten and hurt by the person who mattered most.
Not far away, upon hearing my answer, Alexander crushed the cigarette in his fingers into a mangled ball and hurled it savagely to the floor.