Chapter 7
The air was thick with the scent of whiskey, lingering around my nose.
Antony’s eyes were bloodshot as he held my face, kissing me with a fervor that felt almost like he was devouring me. The pain made me wince, furrowing my brows. “Let–ugh! Let go-” I struggled, pushing against Antony’s shoulders with all my strength. When his tongue forcefully pried open my lips, I bit down hard.
“Ow!” Antony yelped in pain, finally releasing me. Without a moment’s hesitation, I bolted. But just as I thought ! was free, his hand clamped around my wrist. “What the hell, you think I’d eat you alive? Why are you running?” Antony held me tight, his voice a growl filled with anger.
In response, I hurled the gift boxes I was holding at his head. “Were you out of your mind just now?”
“Yeah, maybe!” Antony kicked the scattered boxes away, his chest heaving, eyes locked on my ring finger as if he was ready to pounce and tear me apart. “Where were you last night? Why didn’t you come home?”
I could only stare at him, bewildered. “Where I go is none of your business, is it?”
Antony shuddered, wiping his face with his hand, his expression fierce. “Who is he?”
Ah, the classic question. I looked up at him, silent. Antony seemed to suddenly understand, his face going pale. Whether from the alcohol or something else, he swayed, bracing himself against the wall. “Did he force you?”
“No, we’re just together.”
Antony closed his eyes, trying to suppress whatever was breaking inside him. “Break up with him. You said you wanted to marry me, right? Fine, let’s date. Leave him, and I’ll pretend none of this ever happened.” Antony sighed, as if conceding to some invisible force.
“Jenny, you win. I’ve missed you. We can be together, and I promise there won’t be anyone else.” Oh, I see. He thought last night’s announcement was a ploy to provoke him.
“Antony, I’m not you. I know my own heart. When I like someone, I pursue them openly. I’m not childish enough to use others to score points in love.”
Antony’s face turned ghostly white, his fingers curling inward but never forming a fist. His eyes were bloodshot, and he gave a bitter smile. “Impossible. You liked me so much. How could you be with someone else so quickly?”
I smiled wryly, sarcasm dripping from my voice. “Oh, come on. Teenage crushes don’t mean anything.” I was done arguing. I turned and headed for my front door, punching in the code.
As the door beeped open, I heard his trembling plea behind me. “Can I start loving you now? This time, let me be the one to chase you.”
I turned slowly, disbelief written all over my face. “Where were you before?” Now he wants to call it even? Start
over?
Antony’s expression was one of utter defeat. He looked lost, like he didn’t know what to do with himself. “I just didn’t realize I loved you then. Or maybe,” he admitted, “I didn’t know I was capable of love.”
Jackson had been right. Antony was eating his words. He always swore he wouldn’t regret his choices. But when he saw photos of me holding someone else’s hand, he wanted to tear that man apart. Jenny was his. The girl who always stood by him, waiting, was now gone, and there was no getting her back.
“Heh, how can an adult not know what they want?” Allen’s voice came from the elevator, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. In his beige hoodie and black sweatpants, he looked annoyingly cool.
Antony’s eyes narrowed as he recognized Allen, realizing he was the same voice that had taunted him over the phone.
“Allen,” Antony sneered. “So it was you.”
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Chapter 7
Allen smirked, saluting mockingly with two fingers to his forehead, exuding a natural charm. “Hey there, Mr. Regretful Ex.”
Antony’s face darkened, but Allen seemed unfazed, his gaze falling on the scattered gift boxes, finally landing on a tie that had slipped out. He looked up at me, amusement dancing in his eyes. “For me? A coming–out gift?”
I puffed my cheeks in feigned annoyance. “No.”
“Oh,” Allen replied, bending to pick up the tie and draping it around his neck as he stepped beside me. “Tie it for
me.”
I rolled my eyes and pulled him inside. “You’re wearing a hoodie. What do you need a tie for?” “No worries, I’m dashing no matter what.”
The door closed behind us, but I still heard Antony’s forlorn whisper. “You learned to tie ties for me back then.”
In the end, under Allen’s not–so–subtle persuasion, I found myself attending Jackson and his wife’s party. Allen looked sharp in his suit, drawing every gaze the moment he stepped out of the car. Jackson approached us, offering a warm handshake. “Hello, Allen. I’m Jackson.”
Chapter 8
