After they were gone, Zachary collapsed heavily onto the sofa.
“Vivian, don’t take it to heart,” his friend muttered awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Zachary’s had too much to drink, that’s all. This is Yvette Harper, by the way—an old friend from high school. She just got back from abroad.”
I glanced coolly at Yvette, who still had tears clinging to her eyes, looking as if she had suffered some great injustice.
"Yvette, this is Zachary’s fiancée, Vi—"
Before his friend could finish, Zachary interrupted, sitting up with a scowl. “Colleague,” he spat. “She’s just a colleague, not my fiancée.”
His words felt like a dagger, making me tremble uncontrollably and turning the atmosphere unbearably awkward.
After a long silence, Zachary’s friend quickly tried to smooth things over, handing me a glass of wine. “Here, Vivian. Let’s have a drink.”
Just as I was about to take the glass, Zachary’s eyes snapped to his friend. “What are you doing? She’s allergic to alcohol.”
It was true. Zachary knew I was allergic to alcohol. But what happened next surprised me even more.
“Zachary, you’re drunk,” she said sweetly, placing a hand on his arm. “Louie was offering the drink to Vivian, not me.”
Zachary blinked, then shrugged. "Oh, she can drink. She drinks a lot actually. She’s the best drinker in the whole company."
His words shattered the last remnants of my heart. He had forgotten. He had forgotten the night I nearly died. The night I ended up in the hospital because he had forced me to drink for his clients. He had forgotten my allergy entirely.
Or maybe he just never cared enough to remember.
When I came here tonight, I had still held onto a tiny shred of hope. But now, it was completely gone.
Pulling me out of my thought, Yvette suddenly stood up and spoke to me. “Since you’re here, why don’t you take Zachary home?” she suggested, her voice sickly sweet. “I’ve just gotten back, and I can’t look after him tonight. Oh, and when he wakes up tomorrow, make sure to brew him some ginger honey tea. He always has a headache after drinking, and he’ll need it. And don’t forget to cover him with a blanket. He sleeps terribly after a night out.”
Her words sliced through me, each one a reminder of how well she knew him—better than I ever had. She was just passing the mess to me for tonight.