Chapter 98: She took everything... and still gets to play the saint.
Not too far from the café, inside a dimly lit bar that smelled of smoke and cheap whiskey, a man in his forties sat slouched over the counter, nursing a half-empty glass.
His clothes were wrinkled and stained, his beard overgrown, and his hair clung in greasy strands to his forehead. The faint stench of unwashed sweat clung to him so strongly that the waiter serving him wrinkled his nose in disgust.
"How can the bar allow such a lousy man inside? He smells like trash," a man muttered to his friend as they passed by, covering his nose with the back of his hand.
Collin heard him but instead of reacting, a low, hoarse chuckle escaped his throat.
Let them talk. He had been called worse.
He took another sip, grimacing at the bitter burn that ran down his throat, then exhaled slowly, eyes distant.
After months behind bars, this was what freedom tasted like cheap, sharp, and unsatisfying.
Still, he wasn’t about to complain.
It had only been a day since he’d walked out of that grey hellhole with nothing but a ragged coat and a pocket full of cash. The money he’d saved doing small labor jobs during his time inside. Now, he was wasting it all one glass at a time, and somehow, it felt justified.
"Sir," the bartender said, leaning forward with hesitation, "you’ve already had four glasses. Want me to bring another?"
Collin gave a half-smile, his eyes glinting faintly under the light. "Why not? Gotta celebrate being a free man, right?"
The bartender shrugged and poured another shot, sliding it across the counter. "Suit yourself."
As the golden liquid sloshed into the glass, Collin reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a card, black and sleek, the kind that didn’t belong in hands like his.
The bartender’s brows furrowed. He wasn’t sure what was more surprising that Collin had such a card or that he knew how to use it.
"Here," Collin muttered, flicking it toward him lazily. "Pay for everything I had tonight."
The bartender hesitated, taking the card carefully. "You sure this is real?"
Collin smirked, leaning back with a bitter amusement tugging at his lips. "Trust me, it’s as real as the mess my life’s become."
When the bartender swiped it through the reader, his eyes widened slightly. The transaction cleared instantly. No warning. No decline.
"Everything’s paid," he said quietly, still staring at the card.
Collin reached over, snatched it back, and tucked it into his coat. "Good."
He downed the final glass in one smooth motion and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
For a fleeting second, his eyes cleared, and the drunken fog thinned just enough for a strange smirk to cross his lips.
"Didn’t think she’d still keep it active," he murmured to himself.
The bartender frowned. "Sorry, what was that?"
"Nothing," Collin muttered, his voice dropping into a low rasp as he pushed himself off the counter. His movements were sluggish but deliberate, each step dragging across the worn floorboards as he made his way toward the door.
Just as his hand brushed the metal handle, a flicker of movement from the mounted television above the bar caught his eye.
He stopped.
The noise of laughter and clinking glasses faded into the background. His attention was fixed entirely on the screen.
There she was.
The woman smiling before the cameras, surrounded by microphones and flashing lights, all poised, elegant, and draped in a pristine white suit as though she had never known sin or dirt in her life.
Rosiline Bennett.
Her name scrolled across the screen in bold letters beneath the headline:
"Business Philanthropist Rosiline Bennett Donates to Women’s Welfare Foundation."
Collin’s jaw tensed. His fingers curled into fists as the glassy haze in his eyes sharpened into something far more dangerous.
The people around the bar clapped and murmured admiration at the report, praising her generosity and class. But to him, every word of it sounded like mockery.
"She hasn’t changed a bit..." he whispered under his breath, his voice cold enough to send a chill crawling up his own spine.
That same graceful smile. That same saintly act.
But he knew better.
Collin’s lips curved into a dark, crooked grin as the screen zoomed in on Rosiline’s face, so proud, so polished, so clean. Untouched by the sins of her past.
He smirked, a bitter chuckle slipping past his throat, before shoving the bar door open and stepping out.
The cold air hit his face, but it did nothing to cool the burning hatred simmering beneath his skin. His boots dragged heavily across the pavement, each step echoing with anger that had fermented for years.
How can she live so peacefully?
How can she smile like she didn’t ruin me?
He sneered to himself, jaw tight, hands curling into fists inside his pockets.
"She took everything... and still gets to play the saint."
The memory of the prison walls, gray, cold, and suffocating, flashed in his mind. Every second he’d spent rotting there, he had cursed her name. And now, seeing her thriving, smiling for the cameras as if she hadn’t left him to die, reignited every bit of hatred he thought time had dulled.
"I’ll make sure you pay, Rosiline," he muttered under his breath, his voice trembling with rage.
He kept walking, lost in his thoughts, until—
Thud!
"Ouch!"
A small cry snapped him back to reality. He blinked, looking down to see a young girl stumbling backward, clutching her elbow.
Betty.
Her wide, startled eyes met his then immediately darted away at the sight of his unkempt hair, bloodshot eyes, and the stench of alcohol clinging to him.
Collin’s glare lingered for a beat too long, and for a moment, it looked like he might say something. But before he could, another voice cut in sharply.
"Betty, are you okay?"
Anna appeared from behind, rushing forward to steady the younger girl. Her gaze then lifted, landing on the man towering before them and the sight of him made her pause.
His eyes were sunken, hollow yet burning with a strange fury. His clothes were wrinkled, his stubble unkempt, and the air around him reeked of liquor and bitterness.
"Watch where you’re going, mister," Anna said firmly, her tone cutting through the air.
Collin barely lifted his gaze, his lips twitching as if to speak, but he only gave a small nod and bit down hard on his lower lip. Without another word, he brushed past them, his uneven steps carrying him away into the dark.
Anna’s eyes followed him instinctively, her brow furrowing as something about him. Those hollow eyes and the faint smirk curling at the edge of his mouth stirred an uneasy feeling in her chest. There was something off about him.
Only when his shadow disappeared into the street did she finally exhale.
"I... I think he was drunk," Betty whispered, her voice trembling slightly. Her small hand clutched the hem of Anna’s sleeve, seeking comfort. "The way he stared at us, it was so creepy."
Anna softened, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "Don’t worry, he’s gone now." She forced a small smile and glanced down the road one last time before nodding toward the car. "Come on, I’ll drop you back to the academy."
But before she could take a step, Betty’s hesitant voice stopped her.
"Ah... about that, Big Sis..."
Anna turned, her brows knitting in confusion. "What about it?"
Betty rubbed her arm, eyes darting away, a sheepish grin tugging at her lips. "I... won’t be attending class today."