"W-What?"

  Mrs. Dylan was taken aback, instinctive resistance welling up inside her. "I won't go!"

  Jeffrey Dylan glared at her sternly. "You won't go? Should I go then? Weren't you just saying you'd do anything for our son?"

  Not giving her a chance to argue further, Jeffrey picked up his napkin, wiped his mouth, and stood up. "It's settled then. If you can't handle such a small matter, I think sending Eric abroad might be the easier solution."

  Seeing her husband's serious expression, completely devoid of jest, Mrs. Dylan panicked. "Fine, I'll go!"

  Jeffrey snorted coldly and headed upstairs, leaving Mrs. Dylan alone at the dining table, rubbing her temples. She felt a splitting headache, utterly drained and without any appetite.

  Seeing her son in such a state, she hadn't slept soundly for days either.

  Soon, footsteps sounded on the stairs. Thinking it was Jeffrey returning, Mrs. Dylan looked up and saw it was her son.

  Eric was dressed neatly, having evidently showered. Although he still looked pale, he didn't appear as unkempt as before.

  Mrs. Dylan hurriedly rose to meet him. "Eric, where are you going?"

  Eric finished putting on his shoes, picked up the sports car keys hanging nearby, and without responding to his mother, opened the door and left.

  Mrs. Dylan didn't try to stop him, just called after his retreating figure, "Drive carefully! Be safe!"

  The fact that her son, who hadn't left the house in days, was willing to go out made her happy. Wherever he was going, getting out to clear his head and distract himself was good.

  It was certainly better than locking himself in his room.

  Most importantly, she had secretly installed a GPS tracker on his sports car. She could monitor its location in real-time on her phone, so she wasn't overly worried about him.

  Eric drove to an upscale club's quiet bar in the city center. It was still early; the bar had no other customers. Eric walked straight to the bar counter and sat down. "Two of your house specials, double strength."

  "Certainly, sir. One moment, please."

  Eric sat on the high stool, his eyes fixed on a painting on the wall. The painting itself was unremarkable, but he stared at it, trying to focus his attention on one point.

  He was in too much pain. The fragmented thoughts of the past days had left him restless and unsettled. He couldn't sort them out, couldn't make sense of them. The more he thought, the more Grace's face filled his mind.

  He was going crazy. He needed alcohol to numb himself, even if only for a little while.

  He wanted to empty his mind. He wanted to get drunk!

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  "Sir, your two double-strength house specials. Enjoy."

  The bartender slid two glasses towards Eric. Eric picked up one and, without hesitation, downed it in several large gulps.

  The intensified alcohol burned down his throat, flooding his body, offering a momentary, fleeting relief to his mind and heart.

  He then raised the second glass and emptied it in the same manner.

  The bartender looked at Eric with surprise. He'd seen plenty of customers drinking away their sorrows, but this drinking style usually pointed to heartbreak.

  He sighed inwardly as he heard Eric order again. "Two tequila shots."

  Mixing drinks—the fastest way to get drunk.

  Glass after glass, mixing different liquors, Eric's vision began to blur and double before long. Yet a sliver of reason remained. Instead of rendering him completely senseless, the alcohol seemed to amplify the turmoil in his heart infinitely.

  He began to cry without warning, tears and sniffles mingling, all the while whispering Grace's name under his breath.

  He felt even worse, a suffocating sadness.

  Even the bartender found it hard to watch. He mixed warm water with apple cider vinegar (a folk remedy for hangovers) and pushed it towards Eric. Eric, mistaking it for another drink, downed it in one go without noticing the difference.

  He was still drunk.

  "Eric? Eric!"

  In his daze, Eric thought he heard someone calling his name, the voice fading in and out, sometimes distant as if from the heavens, sometimes close as if by his ear.

  It sounded like Grace's voice!

  Clara looked at the nearly unconscious Eric with deep concern, shaking his shoulders vigorously, trying to rouse him.

  His mom had said he'd left home less than an hour ago. How could he be this drunk already?

  "Eric! Eric!"

  Forcing his head up through drunken, bleary eyes, Eric saw the face before him multiplied into countless overlapping shadows, her features stretched and distorted. He saw dozens of eyes, dozens of noses and mouths.

  "Grace..."

  He mumbled, squinting hard, trying to bring the countless faces into focus, wanting to see Grace's face clearly.

  Clara didn't catch what he muttered. Seeing him responsive, she struggled to drape one of his heavy arms over her slender shoulders, attempting to help him up.

  But how could she possibly support the weight of Eric, over six feet tall, in his drunken state?

  "Miss, do you need help?" the bartender offered, seeing the situation.

  In the end, Clara booked a luxury suite on the club's top floor, and two club attendants helped carry Eric upstairs.

  After the attendants left, Clara walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. She reached out, her touch unreservedly gentle as she stroked Eric's cheek.

  He was so handsome. His long lashes were still damp, and he kept mumbling incoherently.

  Having never seen Eric look so vulnerable before, Clara's heart raced with a pounding intensity. She bit her lip, leaned down, and gently pressed a kiss onto Eric's lips.

  His lips were cool and soft, his breath carrying the rich scent of alcohol, intoxicating her senses.

  The next moment, Clara deepened the kiss fiercely.

  "Grace..."

  "Grace..."

  In his muddled state, Eric sensed something unusual, but in his subconscious, the person he saw was Grace.

  A wave of heat surged through his body. Instinct took over. His hands responded, roughly flipping their positions.

  Clara's pretty face flushed, breathing heavily, her watery eyes gazing at Eric. "Eric..."

  "Grace..."

  Eric lowered his head, beginning his conquest. In his mind, his consciousness, his heart, there was only one thought: he wouldn't let Grace down again.

  This time, he would perform well!

  The next day, Eric awoke slowly, a splitting headache pounding behind his eyes. The room was pitch black due to the blackout curtains. His head felt unbearably heavy, as if filled with lead. His stomach churned, and he felt utterly miserable.

  Reaching blindly towards the headboard, his hand found the smart switch for the curtains. The room's curtains slowly drew open to both sides, sunlight cascading in, gradually illuminating Clara's sleeping profile beside him.

  It was only then that Eric belatedly realized there was someone else in the bed—a woman with disheveled hair and a bare shoulder!

  And he himself was completely naked. A flash of white light seemed to go off in his brain. He froze in shock, rigid on the bed.

  The harsh sunlight woke Clara. She opened her sleepy eyes to meet Eric's icy, stern gaze. Her drowsiness instantly vanished.

  Then, putting on a natural smile, she cooed in a soft, sweet voice, "Eric, you're awake?"