The "old spot" they referred to was a secluded private cellar hidden in the Artisan Quarter.
It originally belonged to Harbour Quinn's family for storing vintage wines. Later, Harbour renovated the space, adding a pool table, a high-end sound system, and a massive screen, turning it into their exclusive hangout.
It was fully stocked with rare liquors sourced from all over the world, bottles you couldn't find on the open market.
Pushing open the heavy soundproof door, the familiar scent of premium whiskey mixed with aged oak hit them immediately.
The two men walked in and settled into a secluded corner booth.
After sitting down, neither spoke.
The bartender, recognizing them, greeted them respectfully and brought over two unopened bottles of Macallan 30, an ice bucket, and a few upscale snacks before quietly retreating.
Yardley poured himself a full glass and threw half of it back in one gulp. The sharp, burning liquid seared his throat, barely taking the edge off his crushing frustration.
He set the glass down and stared into the amber liquid before finally breaking the silence.
"Julian, do you really have nothing to ask me?"
Julian remained indifferent, taking a slow sip of his own drink. "No."
Yardley froze, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"We used to sit right here, drinking and talking for hours. We were invincible. Why are you so completely shut off now?"
Julian's throat shifted slightly. "That was the past. Things change."
It was a simple statement, but it trampled over Yardley's heart like a marching army. His pupils contracted.
"Things change? Does that mean you actually believed the garbage those online trolls wrote? Do you honestly think there's something inappropriate between Sylvia and me?"
Yardley couldn't even finish the sentence. He felt entirely humiliated.
Whenever the subject came up, he felt trapped and utterly defenseless, unable to clear his name. He was suffocating under the weight of an accusation he felt was entirely unjust.



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