Chapter 300: A Call Made Too Late

Grant Holloway raised his hand to signal the bartender. A bottle of vodka was swiftly placed on the counter. He twisted off the cap, and the amber liquid poured out, glinting coldly in the glass.

Mason Reed watched with growing concern. "Bro, that's too strong."

Grant ignored him, tilting his head back and downing the drink in one go. His Adam's apple bobbed as the alcohol burned his throat, but it did nothing to numb the pain in his chest.

"Give me your phone," he suddenly demanded.

Mason hesitated before pulling it out. "Who are you calling—"

Before he could finish, the phone was snatched from his hand. Grant's fingers trembled as he dialed the number he knew by heart. His knuckles turned white as the ringing tone filled the silence.

"Clara..." His voice was rough, like sandpaper. "I miss you."

Three seconds of silence stretched on the other end.

"Grant?" Clara Whitmore's voice was icy.

He gripped the phone like a lifeline. "Let's start over. I swear—"

"I heard you're going to be a father." She cut him off. "Congratulations."

The dial tone buzzed in his ear, but Grant remained frozen, the phone still pressed to his face. Mason watched as the light in his eyes dimmed, replaced by hollow emptiness.

"Bro..."

Grant suddenly laughed, grabbing the bottle and chugging straight from it. Clear liquid dripped down his chin—whether it was vodka or tears, no one could tell.

"Tell me..." He slurred, gripping Mason's arm. "If I drank myself to death, would she come see me one last time?"

Mason yanked the bottle away in horror. "Are you insane?!"

At 2 a.m., Grant staggered through the doors of his villa. Moonlight spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, stretching his shadow long and thin.

He stumbled straight to the study and booted up the long-dormant surveillance system. The blue glow of the screen reflected in his bloodshot eyes, making him look almost ghostly.

His finger hovered over the mouse.

Suddenly, he remembered this exact day a year ago.

Back then, Clara had curled up in this very study, knitting him a scarf under the lamplight. When the yarn rolled to the floor and she bent to pick it up, he had wrapped his arms around her from behind.

"Stop it..." She had laughed, squirming away. "You'll make me mess up the stitches."

Grant clicked on the earliest surveillance file.