After parting ways with Gwendolyn Morris, Marco Griffin's life returned to its usual drab and monotonous pace. He punched in at 8 a.m. and clocked out by 9 p.m., finding his only pleasure in occasionally annoying his father and brother. But even that had lost its charm.
He felt a reckless urge to blow everything up, taking everyone down with him, yet he knew it wasn't the right time. Reclining in his executive chair, he rubbed his temples, trying to steady his impulses: Don’t be rash, he reminded himself. If he planned to topple them, they shouldn’t have any chance to recover.
Boone Williams entered the room with Chandler Hunter trailing closely behind, though Chandler reached Marco first. He was casual and informal, especially around Marco, perching on Marco’s desk and flipping his laptop closed with a flick of his hand.
“Marco, you’ve been cooped up here for days. Nursing a broken heart? That Morris girl hasn't even fallen for you yet, and here you are, already hung up on her. That's not like you at all.”
Marco glanced up lazily, “You think I’m just sitting around doing nothing?”
Boone finally caught up and stood with his legs apart, arms crossed, adding, “Mr. Hunter, the Griffin Group has been in crisis lately; sir is quite busy.”
Chandler, being the youngest of three brothers, had been raised with the care and attention for a daughter his parents never had. Naturally adventurous and always seeking thrills, Chandler had little interest in business matters and was oblivious to the recent chaos within the Griffin Group.
Unfazed, Chandler shrugged, “You don’t have to depend on the Griffin family. Let them handle their own chaos; we’ll have our drinks.” He checked his wristwatch, “Three hours left. Let's get going.”
He tried to pull Marco out of his seat, but Marco didn’t budge.
Marco allowed Chandler to hold his wrist, his gaze steady. “Three hours until what?”
Chandler let go, frustrated. “You forgot? You actually forgot! It’s your birthday, man. Three hours until your birthday. I’ve booked a room at The Monarch for us. Just the old crew, time to catch up.”
The mention of “The Monarch” made Marco’s eyes narrow instinctively. It was where Joey Davis, Gwendolyn’s boyfriend, worked. It had been two months since Marco last saw Gwendolyn.
Strangely, he once dreamed about her, but over time, she only crossed his mind during idle moments. Occasionally, he felt a strong urge, but each time he opened WhatsApp and saw the glaring red exclamation mark, he would suppress those thoughts.
He figured that, being no saint himself, he shouldn’t disrupt an angel, for every demon has its own place. Still, when Chandler reached out now, Marco stood up, saying, “Let’s go. To The Monarch.”
In the bustling streets, they passed cozy cafes filled with the inviting aroma of fresh brew. Marco mused about the casual elegance of his Victorian-style suit, perfectly blending with the crowd. It was the eve of Thanksgiving, a time for family and gratitude, but Marco wrestled with his inner conflict, torn between desires and responsibilities.
Upon arriving at The Monarch, they were greeted by the comforting scent of spiced honey cakes and pulled pork, along with the cheerful chatter of familiar faces. Marco spotted Joey across the room, chatting animatedly with guests over steaming mugs of coffee. The ambiance was warm, yet Marco’s thoughts drifted back to Gwendolyn.
As he settled into the evening’s rhythm, Marco felt the weight of decisions yet to be made. Amid the laughter and shared memories, he realized he needed to find his place within this complex web of relationships and choices.
Gwendolyn Morris leaned on the bar, her upper body slightly angled forward, with her chin resting on her arms as she watched the bartender expertly mix drinks. From Marco Griffin's vantage point, he could only catch glimpses of her back and a partial view of her face. She wore a black turtleneck, and as she slightly turned her head, her slender neck formed an elegant curve. Her dark hair was casually clipped back.
Marco noticed she seemed to favor wearing black, unknowingly accentuating the delicate line of her back and the subtle rise of her shoulder blades, as if beneath them lay a pair of wings ready to take flight.
Chandler Hunter followed Marco's gaze and casually asked, “What are you looking at?” Marco pulled his gaze back, maintaining a composed expression, reassuring himself more than anyone else. “I know my limits. I wouldn't attempt anything out of my league.”
“You're beautiful, more so than many actresses,” her friend commented, but Gwendolyn merely smiled casually. Refreshing her phone screen, she noted with some frustration that the queue hadn’t decreased; instead, it had grown to fifteen.
Sighing, she glanced towards a nearby bakery that remained open despite the late hour. Pointing to it, she said, “I think a spiced honey cake is a must for a birthday. Wait here; I'll go get one.”
Her friend, however, pulled her back, insisting, “I told you, it’s my birthday, so you have to listen to me. Tonight, I just want you to buy me a drink. Besides, I’m watching my sugar intake.”
Gwendolyn chuckled, letting the idea go. Her friend had been a blessing during challenging times, someone she cherished deeply and promised to always be there for.
A sleek black car pulled up at the curb. The back window rolled down, revealing Marco's strikingly handsome face. This time, he kept it brief, simply saying, “Get in.”
His tone was neutral. Gwendolyn wasn’t the type to let pride get in the way of common sense. It was almost midnight, and it wasn’t particularly safe for two young women to be out alone. Ever since she had set things straight that evening, Marco hadn’t contacted her or appeared, suggesting he didn’t have the intentions she had feared.
Yet today, for reasons she couldn’t quite identify, Gwendolyn instinctively wanted to refuse Marco’s offer. She shook her head politely, “No, thank you. Our ride should be here soon.”
She expected Marco to leave it at that. But instead of instructing Boone Williams, his driver, to leave, he calmly met her gaze for a silent few moments before giving a polite, distant smile. “Miss Morris, it’s hard to get a cab here this late. I’m just offering a ride home out of kindness. It's not safe for young women like you to be out at this hour. If my previous actions caused any misunderstanding, I apologize.”
His words left no room for further refusal without seeming irrational. Feeling her face heat with embarrassment, Gwendolyn realized she might have unfairly assumed the worst of his intentions. “It’s me who misunderstood, Mr. Griffin. I’m sorry about that.”
Marco, ever gracious, smiled warmly. “No problem, hop in.”
