Immediately, he reached out and grabbed the glass of wine in front of him, his fingertips turning white from the force.
The alcohol was both bitter and burning, scorching its way down his throat.
He slowly set the glass down, making a soft "thud" as it landed.
"What on earth is wrong with you? Don't tell me... Elara has someone else out there?"
Wyatt Morgan had never seen his friend looking so lost and broken; his heart clenched abruptly.
"There's nothing like that."
Vivian replied in a low voice, his tone hoarse.
He took a deep breath, trying to calm the turmoil within him.
But his breathing still trembled slightly.
In front of his eyes, that scene by his grandmother's deathbed suddenly played itself out uncontrollably.
The old woman's thin hand clutched his tightly, her gaze murky but persistent, as she spoke the words that haunted him to this day.
"It's getting late. I'll go now."
He grabbed the jacket tossed over the sofa without bothering to straighten it.
