In Winifred Dawson’s memory, Garrison Reeves always kept his distance from other women.
But was that really true? After all, most of these years, she had been “kept” away-either confined to a hospital or closely watched by Garrison Reeves at home. He wouldn’t let her go anywhere, claiming the outside world was too dangerous.
What was the “world” outside truly like? How did Garrison Reeves behave around others? What kind of women appeared by his side? And what was his personality like with strangers? She didn’t really know.
She simply trusted him unconditionally, blindly even.
In her world, there was only him. He was the only one who treated her kindly, the only one who loved her.
But now, as she thought about it, Garrison Reeves’s world didn’t revolve around her alone.
When she saw the photo, Winifred Dawson’s heart pounded violently. She knew Leland Burns had sent the picture with malicious intent, aiming to sow discord between her and Garrison Reeves. If she believed it, she would be falling into his trap.
Yet, she couldn’t suppress the pang of discomfort in her chest. Her mind was a mess, and the wounds on her body throbbed painfully.
Winifred Dawson pressed down on the photo and deleted it, deciding to continue hiding from the truth like a turtle retreating into its shell.
Meanwhile, on the other end, Leland Burns casually tossed his phone onto the table, confident that even if Winifred Dawson saw the photo, she wouldn’t respond to him.
A smirk tugged at Leland Burns’s lips. That photo was meant to provoke her, to create cracks in her relationship with Garrison Reeves. Maybe she wouldn’t believe it, but his goal wasn’t to make her believe-it was to widen the already unstable rift between them. A single crack wouldn’t shatter their bond, but enough of them would destabilize it.
He admitted his tactics were despicable, but was Garrison Reeves any less vile?
Leland Burns’s smile deepened, determined. There was nothing he wanted that he couldn’t get.
…
For two consecutive nights, Garrison Reeves hadn’t returned home. Even a fool could tell something was seriously wrong. And yet, he was still trying to hide it from Winifred Dawson.
Every day, Leland Burns sent photos of Garrison Reeves with different women-sometimes accompanied by detailed information about them. Each woman was stunningly beautiful, pale-skinned and elegant, either heiresses or CEOs, all looking like perfect matches for Garrison Reeves in those photos.
Why was Leland Burns sending these pictures? To make her doubt Garrison Reeves’s faithfulness?
Perhaps that was part of it. But more than that, he wanted her to feel inferior to these women. To see how perfect Garrison Reeves looked beside them, so she would voluntarily walk away from the relationship.
Winifred Dawson refused to play into Leland Burns’s hands.
Apart from sending photos, Leland Burns hadn’t contacted her about anything else. She couldn’t help but hope that he had forgotten about the three-day ultimatum he’d given her to think things over.
If he never brought it up again, she would pretend it had never happened.
On the third day, Garrison Reeves finally came home. He reeked of alcohol, and the driver had to help him inside.
During the days Garrison Reeves was away, Winifred Dawson hadn’t been sleeping well. She often woke up startled in the middle of the night. Her injuries, now mostly healed after applying ointments, were still hidden beneath high-necked clothing. Even when home alone, she instinctively kept her scars covered.
When she heard movement outside, Winifred Dawson instantly woke up. Realizing it was Garrison Reeves returning, she rushed out without even putting on her slippers.
Seeing Garrison Reeves stumbling in, visibly drunk, left her stunned. It was the first time she’d ever seen him come home in such a state.
“Miss Dawson,” the driver greeted her.
Winifred Dawson recognized him. She had met most of Garrison Reeves’s staff over the years, as he rarely changed them. He believed familiar faces bred trust.
“Mr. Reeves had a lot to drink at today’s event. Could you make him some hangover soup? I’ll take my leave now,” the driver said.
Winifred Dawson nodded and hurried over to support Garrison Reeves.
He was tall, and drunk as he was, he could barely stand. Even with the driver’s help, it was a struggle to get him to the sofa.
Garrison Reeves let out a low groan, his face flushed, head hanging like a large, exhausted dog.
It was already late. After ensuring Garrison Reeves was settled, the driver left with his car keys.
Winifred Dawson, flustered, went to the kitchen to prepare hangover soup. She didn’t know how to make it, so she quickly looked up a recipe online. While the soup simmered on low heat, she fetched a basin of warm water and a damp towel from the bathroom to wipe Garrison Reeves’s face.
The moment the cool towel touched his face, Garrison Reeves stirred, his eyes snapping open.
At first, his gaze was wary. But upon recognizing Winifred Dawson, he immediately relaxed, his tense expression softening. Finally, he was home.
The past few days had been grueling. He had been working overtime, handling urgent tasks without rest. Yet despite being so busy, he felt a hollow emptiness. Several times, he’d wanted to come home to see Winifred Dawson, but unexpected problems always delayed him, leaving him no time even to call her.
Now, he was finally back, but in the worst possible state-drunk and disheveled, presenting himself so poorly in front of her.
“I’m sorry. I drank too much. I know you hate the smell of alcohol. I’m sorry…”