Dark Revenge Of A Jilted Bride: Till Life Do Us Part!-Chapter 13: Bothered

Where was Sandro? Zane mused, glancing again at his wristwatch.

8:45 p.m.

His brows creased faintly. Did his friend forget they were meeting tonight to drink away their sorrows?

He sighed deeply, shoulders sagging a little, and picked up the glass before him. But, like the other times he had attempted it tonight, he couldn’t bring himself to drink it.

Last night still left a ringing hollow within him, some kind of lingering trauma that clung to his chest. He wouldn’t drink again, not without his friend close by.

He looked at his wristwatch again, jaw tensing. Ten minutes more, he decided silently. Ten minutes more and he would be out of here. After all, he had work to do at home.

At home.

His lips curved into a humorless line. He was thinking of moving out of there.

He could suddenly understand why Ewan had stopped staying at his own mansion when things had started going south; the coldness—one that had nothing to do with actual temperature—was starting to get to him.

Even the servants avoided him like he had the plague, like he was the one who had created the Grey Virus and not his father.

Yes, maybe he should pack up and move to Sandro’s house.

The Thorne mansion was out of the question because Gianna lived there. Moving there would be testing fate more than was required.

Speak of the devil, his mind supplied bitterly—and she appeared in a red gown.

His spine stiffened as he watched Gianna walk into the club with her friends, Chelsea and Areso. His eyes stayed only on Gianna though, traitorous eyes betraying him once again.

She was wearing a hot red gown, the kind that hugged her curves generously, flowing over her hips like molten silk. The slit teased her thigh every time she moved.

Her hair framed her face perfectly, cascading around her shoulders, and she walked with that confident, sinfully graceful sway that made the whole room look dimmer in comparison.

The lights caught the gloss on her lips, drawing attention to the soft fullness he knew too well.

And the memory of their night together slammed into him, uninvited and unwelcome. He felt blood rush to his groin—swift, sharp, humiliating.

"Damn," he muttered under his breath, looking away quickly when her eyes met his, when her gaze hardened into slits, a cold flash of recognition and disdain.

Why had he continued to stare until she caught him? What was wrong with him?

Without thinking, he picked up his wine and downed it in one gulp.

Damn Sandro. If the latter had arrived on time, he wouldn’t have been stupidly staring at his evil ex—who did evil things to the color red.

And what was she even doing here? What were they celebrating?

Shouldn’t she be thinking of how to salvage her job situation instead of spending what little money she had on drinks?

Or was she depending on the Thornes’ money?

He chuckled bitterly, shaking his head. Of course. What else?

It must be why she was even staying there—to take advantage of Athena’s generosity. To take advantage of the Thornes’ wealth.

Shameless woman.

Couldn’t she borrow a leaf from her friends, who were all trailblazers in their fields?

She had good skills in designing jewelry—why couldn’t she swallow her pride and come work in his company?

He would avoid her if she wanted. He didn’t need to see her after all. He had other companies to handle, other mini Whitman empires to run.

He sighed again, ruffling his hair in frustration. Thank heavens Athena had suggested a better replacement for herself as the head of Whitman Hospitals.

He surely wouldn’t have known what to do about that area, especially since it always hit him smack in the face with his father’s betrayal.

"Hey man... sorry I am late..."

Zane’s grip tightened on the cup. That single statement reminded him of the shameful direction his traitorous eyes had taken out of idleness.

"Sandro... I have been waiting."

"I know, I am sorry. A lot of work... do understand."

Was there another choice? Zane wondered silently, watching his friend take the empty seat before him.

Sandro beckoned on one of the servers, and Zane’s chest tightened with envy.

He wished the zeal with which he once beckoned servers for wine hadn’t been dampened by last night. Wished he was still untainted in that way—like Sandro.

"So, tell me... what’s been happening?" Sandro started after taking a gulp of his drink, meeting Zane’s gaze with a tired seriousness.

Both men looked exhausted—shoulders weighted, eyes dim. Sandro even had dark circles shadowing his lids.

They both noticed it at the same time and laughed simultaneously, the sound weak but genuine.

"At this rate... we are going to be worked to death," Sandro said, chuckling and shaking his head.

"Well, at least you are covering for two respectable people."

Sandro frowned, instantly understanding the train of thought his friend had wandered into.

"Zane, you are not your father," he said firmly. "As a matter of fact, you are the reason why we won against the Grey Virus, against the evil machinations of Herbert. Don’t forget that. And you are not working for him—you are carving your own path. You are doing something good. It might take a while, but people will see that you are not your father."

Zane hoped so. Gods, he hoped so.

"Is that why you called this morning?" Sandro asked, filling his glass, filling Zane’s too.

And Zane wondered whether to talk about the one-night stand, whether to talk about sending the morning pill to Gianna.

But if he did that... wouldn’t it prove he was bothered? That he wasn’t over his ex at all?

He frowned at the cup like it held the source of his problems.

"Zane?" Sandro prompted.

Zane sighed, rubbing his forehead. "You and Chelsea..."

"Don’t bite my head off..." he added when Sandro’s concerned expression shifted into blankness, except for the calm fury simmering in his eyes.

"I know you don’t want to talk about her, just like I don’t want to talk about my history with Gianna, but I think Ewan’s wedding might have set off some sort of fateful—"

Sandro burst into laughter, loud and unrestrained, cutting him off. 𝑓𝘳𝘦𝑒𝑤𝑒𝘣𝘯ℴ𝘷𝘦𝓁.𝑐𝑜𝑚

He laughed until he bent over the table holding his stomach, until Zane’s expression twisted into irritation.

"What?!" Zane whisper-yelled, conscious of the attention they were drawing. He was painfully aware of the possibility that Gianna and her friends were watching them, probably judging them.

He stamped Sandro’s foot under the table, but Sandro only laughed harder.

"Can you stop it?!"

This time Sandro bit down on his laughter, though it shimmered in his eyes, tugged at his lips, and shook his shoulders.

He couldn’t believe it. Had Ewan’s wedding made Zane sappy?

"Sorry..." he said, not sorry at all. "Keep talking... you were saying something about fate... Ewan’s wedding..."

A chuckle slipped out again.

Zane was done.

Talking about this was stupid—just like his sudden, ridiculous bother with Gianna.