Still, he showed absolutely no concern.
I returned to the party feeling like I was trudging through quicksand.
Before I could gather my thoughts, a pot-bellied man slithered up to me.
"Miss Dawson, feeling a little tipsy? How about I take you to a hotel? You smell amazing," he said, his voice oily and breath reeking as his hand landed on my neck, slowly sliding down.
His bodyguards were stationed at the door, leaving me no way out. Trapped, I decided to do the unexpected. I grabbed a glass of wine and plastered on a fake, sycophantic smile.
"Thank you, Mr. Reynolds. You're too kind," I cooed, forcing myself to play along.
Through the clear glass of the private room, my eyes locked with Caleb's. His gaze was a mix of rage and frustration, burning through the distance between us.
I was betting on everything at that moment. I had to know if, somewhere beneath all that hatred, there was still a shred of genuine care for me.
For the rest of the party, I switched gears. I went from playing the meek, quiet girl to aggressively pouring drinks for the men, laughing and smiling like I wasn't falling apart.
If Caleb and Nina wanted to humiliate me, I would get my small dose of revenge, one way or another.
As I made my rounds, I heard someone mention that Lance Carter, the editor-in-chief of a major magazine, was here.
A juicy scoop about Nina, the rising star, and her history of bullying?
That could be worth something.
"Oh, Mr. Reynolds!" I gushed, practically dripping with false enthusiasm. "It's such an honor to have you here. Let me pour you another drink! Here's a toast to you! Don't forget what we discussed."
By now, I was starting to feel dizzy, and the pain in my abdomen grew sharper. I remembered the doctor's warning after my D&C that I shouldn't drink any alcohol. But I was far past that now.
Glancing out the window, I realized Caleb was gone.
The spot where he had been standing was now littered with cigarette butts, but he was nowhere to be found.
Had I lost my bet?
Before I could dwell on it, Mr. Reynolds moved closer, rubbing his hands together as his eyes raked over me. "Miss Dawson, you're feeling hot in all those clothes? Let me help you take them off, baby girl."
He reached for me, pulling at my clothes roughly.
Panic surged through me as revulsion crept up my spine.
Slowly, I moved my thumb towards the emergency number 110 on my phone, ready to call for help.