Page 61 of Punishing His Runaway Bride

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"Lying there, not eating, not drinking, not going out, not seeing anyone—you'll die."

I knew.

But I didn't know what to do.

"I'll think about it," I said.

"Think about what—"

"Gotta go."

"Olivia—"

I hung up.

Tossed the phone aside.

Kept lying there.

Ella's words echoed in my head.

Should I really leave?

It must've been early morning when footsteps echoed in the hallway.

Not a servant's—too heavy, too sloppy, with that drunk sway I recognized instantly. I stared at the ceiling, listening as they got closer, stopped at my door, then—

The door opened. No knock.

He stood there, suit collar loose, tie dangling, hair messed up. In the hallway light spilling in, I saw his eyes. Unfocused, foggy.

Booze reeked. Strong.

He was wasted.

I didn't move.

He stepped in, came to the bed, and looked down at me.

"You're awake."

I said nothing, just looked away.

He sat on the edge. The mattress dipped.

"Olivia."

I stared at the ceiling.

A hand reached, grabbed my chin, and turned my face.

"Look at me."

I looked into his eyes. Those green ones, scattered now, bloodshot.

He stared.

For a long time.

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