Page 132 of Sardonic Burn

He’s sitting in a leather chair with a drink on the small, glass table next to him. He’s tracing circles on the round glass with his index finger while staring into the distance. His eyes are dull—dead—just like I’ve been feeling.

So why does it physically hurt me to see him like this? Why does it look like he’s barely gotten any sleep? His muscles might have grown a little, but his cheeks are sunken. It makes his jaw sharper, and, as attractive as it is, I can’t help but wonder if it’s my fault.

What a fucking stupid thought.

It is my fault.

A frown forms on my face.

Well, this is unexpected.

A short, blonde woman appears. It’s not Lyla, and it’s definitely not someone related to Hudson in any way, shape, or form. Her short dress reaches just above her knees, and her slim figure is all I can stare at.

It’s not a secret that I look more masculine than an ordinary woman. I was raised and trained as a soldier. Of course I have muscles and thicker thighs. Is this Hudson’s usual type of woman? Short, slim, blonde?

The thought infuriates me more than I thought it would.

But the more I look at the sight in front of me, the less it makes sense.

Hudson doesn’t even blink in her direction. His eyes are still skimming through the crowd while he occasionally takes a sip from his glass. It’s whiskey, and a good one at that. The girl is talking, approaching him and closing the distance.

Jealousy bursts within like a wildfire, and there’s no way to put it out.

I grab the last shot, gulp it down, and slam the glass back on the bar. I notice Cecilia’s wide grin as I toss my belongings on her lap and make my way toward the stairs that lead toward the VIP section.

There are two guards, but I simply walk past them. They yell behind me, but neither of them even attempts to stop me. They either know who I am, or they notice the murderous aura from my body.

Before I reach the end of the stairs, I glance upward, and my blood starts boiling in my veins. The glass is black, and I don’t see what’s happening anymore. My feet carry me as fast as possible, but these fucking heels are too uncomfortable to run in.

I don’t knock on the door; I just stroll inside as if I own the place.

My breath hitches as I step inside. The girl is nowhere to be found, and Hudson spins in his chair, staring right at me. This proximity makes my hormones go wild because I didn’t even realize just how much I missed this man. My man.

“Who was that?”

What a great opening, Noelle.

Hudson blinks.

It’s been a while since we last saw each other, but even longer since I saw the death glare from him. He blinks, sips on the whiskey, and doesn’t say a word for a while. He’s studying me, and it makes me feel exposed.

I’m wearing a dress shirt with pants and have a scarf wrapped around my neck. Given the state of my body, I’m not likely going to wear dresses anytime soon—if ever. The scars from the taser are there alongside the cuts he made. My face healed entirely, but the rest of my body isn’t looking great at the moment.

“She’s just a random woman.”

Oh, God.

His cold, stoic voice sends chills down my body. A knot forms in my throat, and I suppress the urge to jump on him. His shoulders are rigid, and his eyes narrow at me.

“And what did she want?”

“My number.”

“Did you give it to her?”

“Why?”

“I’m contemplating whether or not she’s too young to die, that’s all.”

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