“I don’t even know why,” Edwin said with a faint laugh. “I guess it just came out naturally when I was talking to you.”
Hearing that, Yvonne let out a teary laugh. “Alright, enough talking. Sit down and drink with me.”
She waved at the waiter to refill their glasses, and the two clinked them together before downing the liquor in one go.
The waiter exchanged a glance with his colleague.
There were plenty of drinkers in this bar, but people who drank like this—bold, reckless, and unflinching—were rare. He’d never seen anything quite like it.
After a few more rounds, Yvonne’s head was spinning, her mind a fog of alcohol.
She squinted at the man across from her, his features faintly resembling Lucas’, and her vision blurred. “Lucas?”
Edwin froze, eyes widening in disbelief. Did she just mistake him for that guy?
For some reason, a bad feeling rose in his chest. “Yvonne, you—”
Before he could finish, Yvonne burst into tears, collapsing into his arms.
“Lucas, I knew you still cared about me,” she sobbed, clutching his shirt. “You couldn’t just let me go, right? That’s why you came to see me, isn’t it?”
Edwin stood stiffly, completely lost, glancing helplessly between the crying woman in his arms and the bewildered waiter. His hands hovered awkwardly in the air, unsure where to go.
The scene was almost comical, but Yvonne didn’t notice. She clung to him, pouring out her heart and all the pain she’d been holding in.
The past days had been unbearable—endless pressure, whispers from people on set, and every glance that reminded her she’d become the joke of the industry.
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