Immediately, he reached for the wine glass in front of him, his fingertips turning pale from the effort.
The alcohol was both bitter and spicy, burning all the way down his throat.
He slowly put down the wine glass, making a light "thud" sound.
"What's wrong with you? Could it be... Elara is seeing someone else?"
Wyatt Morgan had never seen his friend so lost and despondent, a tightness gripped his heart.
"That's not the case."
Vivian Prescott replied in a hoarse voice.
He took a deep breath, trying to calm the turmoil inside.
But his breathing was still somewhat shaky.
Uncontrollably, the scene from his grandmother's last moments appeared before his eyes.
The elderly woman's thin hand clutched him tightly, her eyes cloudy but determined, and she said the words that he still couldn't let go of.
"It's getting late, I should go."
He grabbed the coat draped over the sofa without bothering to fix it.
He turned and walked out of the room.
