Grace's POV
The stranger rose and reached for the wine bag I'd reluctantly offered to share. He extracted one of the bottles, examined the label, and let out a low chuckle that revealed perfectly white teeth. "Well, well, quite the potent stuff you've brought. Planning to drink yourself into oblivion tonight?"
With smooth, practiced movements, he uncorked two bottles and extended one toward me like a proper gentleman. "This one's yours. I'm betting you've got plenty of reasons to drown your sorrows right now. All that weight on your shoulders must be crushing. Come on, get wasted with me and let it all fade away, just for tonight."
I paused, uncertainty flickering through me. Getting plastered with a complete stranger wasn't exactly the smartest move. Yet something in his steady gaze felt oddly comforting, silently promising that tonight, at least, everything would be okay.
I seized the bottle and took a massive swig without hesitation. The alcohol scorched my throat, making me grimace, but the burning sensation quickly mellowed into something more manageable. I continued drinking, this time allowing myself to appreciate the wine's complex sweetness as it coated my tongue before sliding down.
The enigmatic man watched me intently. As I began sinking deeper into the sofa cushions, he murmured, "There we go. We're here to unwind and spill our troubles once we're sufficiently drunk."
Following my lead, he settled back into his seat and drained half his bottle in one fluid motion. "Ahh... perfect. Just what I needed."
My gaze drifted over him involuntarily, taking in the appealing curve of his exposed neck. I found myself imagining what it might look like marked with a few well-placed kisses. I quickly snapped myself back to reality before he could catch me staring. I was here to get drunk and vent my frustrations. Period. Nothing else. I took another substantial gulp of wine.
That had been my original plan anyway. This man's presence didn't change anything.
I fixed my eyes on the ceiling, lost in my own turbulent thoughts, completely unaware of how his intense stare remained fixed on me. The silence stretched between us until I finally worked up the nerve to ask, "What should I call you?"
A mischievous grin spread across his face. "Didn't expect the prestigious Chief Editor to take an interest in little old me. You sure you want to know?"
"Forget it," I muttered, clicking my tongue and turning away. I wasn't in the mood for games.
"Hey, don't get all defensive on me, I'm just messing around," he said. "Honestly, I don't think you need to know my name. It's pointless."
"Pointless? You already know mine, but I can't know yours?" I rolled my eyes. "I thought you wanted us to relax and share our problems. But you won't even give me your name - how am I supposed to trust you with my issues?"
"You can spill everything without knowing what to call me. All you need is someone to listen, right? Besides, after tonight, we'll never cross paths again. There's something beautiful about staying anonymous."
When I remained silent, he pressed on, "Actually, it's better if you don't know who I am. We'll always be strangers, and why should you care what some random stranger thinks of your life?"
I fell quiet, considering his words. Strangely enough, they made sense.
Maybe it was better to unload on someone I had no ties to whatsoever. All I really needed was someone to hear me out right now, in this moment. Someone to understand that I'd busted my ass for Charles, that I'd tried my hardest to be the perfect wife despite not being able to give him children. And still, it hadn't been enough.
Tomorrow I'd return to being the assertive, capable Editor-in-Chief who rarely showed vulnerability in public or private. I'd be the independent Grace Preston again. But tonight, the walls I'd built around myself had crumbled along with my heart. I felt utterly exposed and worthless.
I finally turned to face the mysterious man directly and said firmly, "Promise me you'll share your story after I tell you mine. I refuse to be the only one showing weakness here."
"Deal. I could use someone to listen to my troubles too."
I gave a small nod. I raised my bottle and took a generous drink, letting the liquid courage flow through me. I waited for the familiar burn in my throat, taking it as my cue to release all the pain I'd kept buried so deep. Across from me, he mirrored my actions.
"I'm not sure how to explain what's wrong," I sighed. "I've never opened up to anyone about my worries or pain because I hate looking weak."
"Let me take a guess at your problem then," he said, his eyes boring into mine with unsettling intensity. "Once I figure it out, it'll be easier for you to talk about it, right?"
"Guess?" I frowned. "How could you possibly guess what's wrong?"
"Easy. It's written all over you, Grace. You're like an open book."
"Fine. Try me."
His smile widened. When he spoke, his voice carried absolute certainty, as if he already knew the truth rather than merely guessing. "You're stuck with a deadbeat husband who won't get a job, so you're working yourself to death to make up for his laziness, right?"
My eyes went wide. I nearly dropped my wine bottle from pure shock.
"H-How could you know that?" I stammered, my guard shooting back up instantly. "Are you seriously stalking me or something?"
"Ha, I don't need to stalk you to figure that out." The young man casually lifted a finger and pointed at my hand. "That ring tells me everything I need to know."