The silence that followed Victoria's departure was deafening. Chad sat motionless at the table in the private dining room, staring at the empty chair across from him where she had been moments before, her words still echoing in his mind like shards of glass cutting through his consciousness. The romantic ambiance he had so carefully orchestrated now felt like a mockery, the flickering candlelight casting dancing shadows that seemed to taunt him with their meaningless beauty.
For several long moments, Chad remained frozen, his hands gripping the edge of the table with white-knuckled intensity. Then, without warning, the dam of his composure burst completely.
He slammed his fist down on the table with explosive force, causing the wine glasses to jump and the silverware to clatter against the fine china. The sound reverberated through the intimate private room like a gunshot, the walls containing his outburst from the rest of the restaurant.
"Damn her," he snarled under his breath, his voice thick with rage and something dangerously close to desperation.
Rising abruptly from his chair, Chad kicked it backward with vicious satisfaction, watching as it toppled over and crashed to the floor. The physical violence felt good, cathartic even, but it did nothing to stop the painful twinge that had taken up residence in his chest. The sensation was foreign and unwelcome, a hollow ache that seemed to spread outward from his heart like poison through his veins.
This wasn't supposed to happen. Chad Winters didn't get rejected. He didn't get dismissed like some lovesick teenager pining after the popular girl. He was a successful, powerful man who commanded respect and attention wherever he went. Women threw themselves at him, competitors feared him, and business partners courted his favor. Yet here he stood, alone in the private dining room, his carefully laid plans crumbling around him like a house of cards in a hurricane.
A gentle knock on the door interrupted his spiral of rage. The maître d' entered cautiously, having heard the commotion from his station outside where he had been waiting to attend to their needs. His usual professional composure was intact, but there was a flicker of concern in his eyes as he took in Chad's disheveled state and the overturned chair.
"Sir, is everything alright? Perhaps we could..."
"Everything is fine," Chad snapped, his voice carrying enough venom to make the man take an involuntary step backward. The charming, sophisticated businessman who had greeted Victoria earlier was nowhere to be found, replaced by someone raw and dangerous. "Send the bill to my office. And clean up this mess."
He straightened his tie with jerky, aggressive movements, trying to reclaim some semblance of his usual polished appearance. But his hands were trembling slightly, and he couldn't quite manage to eliminate the wild look in his eyes. The pain in his chest wasn't subsiding; if anything, it was growing stronger, spreading through his body like a slow-acting poison.
Chad strode out of the private dining room with as much dignity as he could muster, ignoring the maître d's concerned glances as he made his way through the restaurant. His driver was waiting by the curb, professional and unobtrusive as always, but Chad could see the man's eyes flick toward him with barely concealed concern in the rearview mirror as they pulled away from the restaurant.
The ride back to his penthouse passed in a blur of city lights and mounting fury. Chad stared out the window at the bustling Saturday night crowd, couples walking hand in hand, groups of friends laughing and enjoying their evening, all of them blissfully unaware of the storm of emotions raging inside the luxury sedan. Their happiness felt like a personal affront, a reminder of everything he had just lost.
When they reached his building, Chad dismissed his driver with a curt nod and took the private elevator to his penthouse suite. The space was a testament to his success and refined taste: floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city, modern art carefully selected by an expensive consultant, furniture that cost more than most people's annual salaries. It was impressive, intimidating, and utterly cold.
Chad loosened his tie as he walked to the bar, pouring himself three fingers of twenty-five-year-old scotch with hands that were still not entirely steady. The alcohol burned as it went down, but it did nothing to ease the ache in his chest or the wounded pride that felt like a living thing clawing at his insides.
He had been so certain. So absolutely convinced that Victoria would see reason, would recognize what they could have together. He had planned every detail of the evening, from the romantic setting to the carefully timed revelation of the photographs. He had even prepared for her initial resistance, knowing that Victoria Sharp never made anything easy. But he hadn't prepared for the complete and utter dismissal she had delivered with such casual brutality.
"After me, there can only be me, and you can't handle me."
Her words replayed in his mind on an endless loop, each repetition driving the knife of rejection deeper into his wounded ego. The worst part was that she was right. He had tried to subdue her back in business school, had wanted to mold her into something more manageable, more traditionally feminine. He had been intimidated by her fierce intelligence and unwavering ambition, threatened by the way she commanded attention without even trying.
Chad drained his glass and immediately poured another, the alcohol beginning to blur the sharp edges of his humiliation. But even through the growing haze, the pain remained constant, a dull throb that seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat.
He had convinced himself that time had changed him, that success and maturity had made him worthy of Victoria Sharp. But sitting alone in his expensive penthouse, Chad was forced to confront the uncomfortable truth: he hadn't changed at all. He was still the same insecure man who had tried to diminish her rather than rise to meet her standards.
The photographs on his phone seemed to mock him now. Victoria and James looked genuinely happy together, their connection evident in every candid shot. There was something in Victoria's expression when she looked at James that Chad had never seen directed at him, even during their brief relationship. It was tenderness mixed with respect, love tempered with genuine admiration. James hadn't tried to tame her or control her; he had simply accepted her exactly as she was.
Chad's phone buzzed on the coffee table, and he glanced at it with bleary eyes. A text from his assistant, confirming his Monday morning meetings. The normalcy of it felt surreal given the emotional chaos of the evening. Tomorrow would come whether he was ready for it or not, and he would have to face the world knowing that Victoria Sharp had rejected him not once, but twice.
He was contemplating his third scotch when a memory surfaced through the alcohol-induced fog. Daniel Harris. The name came to him suddenly, along with the recollection of a very interesting conversation they had shared several weeks ago.