The One He Dismissed Became The One He Died For novel Chapter 262

Claire looked at the sea of faces surrounding her. Her thoughts were an absolute tangled mess, and she had zero interest in discussing business.

Right now, her mind was completely consumed by Miles.

Because of her, he had been stripped of his inheritance by Alistair Zimmerman. Because of her, he was being mercilessly ridiculed online. And she had actually shoved her phone in his face, dragging him into analyzing the gossip with her.

His words played on an endless, agonizing loop in her ears.

"Maybe... he had his reasons."

A bitter, crushing ache swelled in her throat, burning with regret.

"I apologize," she politely declined the business cards thrust in her face, forcing a courteous but distant smile. "I'm not feeling well. Please excuse me."

Claire turned and navigated through the crowd, retreating toward a deserted bar area nestled in the far corner of the banquet hall.

A few backup bottles of whiskey were lined up on the counter.

She collapsed onto a lounge chair tucked near the bar, mindlessly grabbed a bottle, and recklessly took several large gulps.

As the alcohol burned a trail down her throat, the suffocating weight in her chest only grew heavier.

It felt like the inescapable, clinging dampness of the rainy season, like a volcano erupting halfway, like a dam bursting, washing over the banks only to recede and leave absolute devastation behind.

It wasn't a sharp physical pain, but the emotional ache was suffocating.

She raised the bottle and downed more than half of it, her vision steadily turning blurry and unfocused.

Her arm dropped limply, the glass bottle hitting the floor with a loud *clank*.

She blindly reached out to find it, her hand clumsily sweeping the floor until it brushed against the leather of a dress shoe.

She forced her heavy eyes upward. Miles had returned, though she had no idea when.

He was looking down at her, his deep voice carrying an incredibly soft cadence. "Did you drink too much?"

Claire pulled her hand back, slumping deeply into the lounge chair, her red-rimmed eyes locking onto him.

The man's usually cold gaze was entirely replaced by an overwhelming, yielding tenderness. He bent down, picked up the discarded bottle, set it aside, and then pulled out a handkerchief to gently wipe the alcohol from the corner of her lips.

"How much did you have?"

Claire didn't answer. She reached out, her fingers weakly grasping his cuff. Her lips parted as if she wanted to say something, but she swallowed the words down, her grip on his sleeve tightening just a fraction more.

Miles didn't press her for an answer. He leaned down and effortlessly scooped her up from the lounge chair. Claire instinctively threw her arms around his neck.

Harvey understood instantly. "I'll have my driver take you."

"No need. My car is waiting right outside."

"Then about the partnership..." Harvey's voice rose slightly, tinged with obvious anxiety. He had been desperate to expand his Northport apparel empire internationally, far beyond just Empire City.

Miles pressed a finger to his lips in a silencing gesture, then tilted his head down to indicate the sleeping woman in his arms.

"I will make the arrangements." He paused, his voice dropping dangerously low. "However, regarding those individuals who insulted my wife tonight... the only reason I held back was to save face for Summit Garments."

"Understood, Mr. Zimmerman. I will make sure those gentlemen are appropriately dealt with."

Miles carried Claire down the stone steps. The woman in his arms was completely out cold.

The car door opened, and Miles lowered her into the seat with incredibly slow, gentle movements.

The soft, silver-white moonlight poured through the window, illuminating her face. Her breathing was slow and even. Miles leaned over, staring at her intently for a long, silent moment.

He loved her. He protected her. He had bound her to him with a marriage certificate.

He was a doctor who saved lives, but he was never, ever a saint.