A Vow of Deception, A Vow of Revenge novel Chapter 8

Winona turned to look at him.

His eyes brimmed with irritation, silently blaming her for refusing to play along with Celia. He knew about her fragile stomach—just a while ago, when she'd been in pain, he'd even had someone deliver antacids to her office. Yet here he was, still pressuring her to accept the drink Celia was offering.

It was painfully clear: her health meant nothing to him compared to Celia's pride.

Watching Tyson make it obvious he wouldn't let this go unless she drank, Winona let out a bitter little laugh. She took the glass from Celia and knocked it back in one swallow.

"There. Is that good enough for you, Mr. Goodwin?"

She angled the empty glass toward Tyson, making sure he saw every drop was gone.

Tyson opened his mouth, but for once, words seemed to fail him as he met her eyes.

Celia, on the other hand, broke into a triumphant, taunting smile. "Thank you, Ms. Thorne, for being such a good sport. I hope you'll look after me in the future."

Winona didn't bother responding. Celia didn't seem to care, either, strutting back to sit beside Tyson with all the composure of someone who'd just claimed a victory.

See, Winona? The person he cares about most is me.

She was still basking in her own sense of triumph, completely oblivious to the fact that Winona couldn't care less.

The alcohol burned all the way down, and soon Winona's stomach began to twist in pain. She'd known better—she hadn't planned on drinking tonight, not with her stomach acting up. She'd left the glass poured by her colleagues untouched, never expecting Celia would corner her with a toast.

The drink wasn't strong, but with her sensitive stomach, it felt like poison.

Gritting her teeth, Winona reached into her bag for her medication—only to realize, with a flash of panic, that she'd left it at the office.

The pain was getting worse by the second. As her colleagues stayed engrossed in Tyson and Celia's little show, Winona pressed her lips together, stood up quietly, and slipped out of the private dining room, hoping to find a pharmacy nearby.

Tyson noticed her leaving and half-rose, ready to follow—until Celia caught his arm.

"Where are you going?" she murmured, her voice soft and cloying, pitched just for his ears. "You're the only person I know here. You have to stay with me."

Her simpering tone made Tyson's resolve crumble. He sat back down.

"I—" Winona managed, still clutching her stomach.

"Stomach pain?" he guessed, nodding toward where her hand pressed against her midsection.

She nodded, cold sweat beading on her forehead.

"Do you usually take anything for it?"

Without thinking, she named the medication she relied on.

He didn't ask any more questions. Instead, he guided her to a quiet, empty room nearby and helped her into a chair. "Wait here for me."

His footsteps faded down the hallway.

Winona's mind was foggy, full of pain and confusion. Who was that man? Where was he going?

Still, something deep inside told her she didn't need to be afraid.