Vivian Hart clung to him, gently tugging at his sleeve.
"Ms. Quinn, don’t take it too personally, I’m just used to it."
Vivian Hart’s smile was provocative, trying to provoke me.
I just silently picked up my scattered luggage, took a taxi, and returned to my own place.
I booked a flight for the next evening, planning to go abroad and get some peace.
Vivian Hart and Ethan’s scandal had already been suppressed.
And the film crew released the behind-the-scenes footage of my miscarriage accident, which became a new topic of gossip.
I made myself a few drinks.
For the first time in three years of marriage, I drank myself into a stupor.
At the dinner party,
Ethan absentmindedly drank the toasts from others.
Even though Vivian Hart, his "white moonlight," was smiling beside him, his mind was still filled with the image of me being thrown to the ground.
Vivian Hart keenly noticed his mood and signaled the waiter.
A bottle of wine quickly arrived.
The taste of the wine was familiar, the same one Ethan had drunk before.
The aftertaste had a faint hint of lemon peel, a scent I always added when bartending.
Ethan stared at the wine in a daze, while Vivian Hart’s gaze began to cloud over.