Chapter 45: That’s how she plans to get rid of me
The next morning, Anna woke with a pounding headache that felt like hammers striking against her skull. Her stomach churned, her mouth dry, and every limb in her body begged her to stay under the covers.
Last night had been chaos. She had drunk far more than she could tolerate, and now her body was making her pay the price. Still, a small sigh of relief slipped from her lips—at least she’d made it home safely.
Groaning, she pushed herself upright, wincing at the sharp throb in her temples. She blindly reached for her phone on the side table, her hand fumbling before she managed to grab it.
She hadn’t meant to drink. One can of beer had seemed harmless enough. But then things had escalated—one drink became two, two became four—and by the time she realized, it was far too late. Regret now pressed down heavier than her hangover.
"I hope Betty’s doing better," she muttered, squinting at the screen as she quickly typed a message to her friend.
The memory of the night before replayed in fragments. Betty, flushed and giggling, insisting she could handle it. Betty wobbling after her third can. Betty passing out cold while Anna had tried to keep her upright.
A short laugh escaped Anna’s lips despite her throbbing head. "And here she was claiming she had good tolerance."
She hit send, then tossed the phone aside and pressed her palms to her temples, groaning. Her whole body felt heavy, sluggish.
But then—something clicked in her mind.
Her breath caught. The groan died in her throat.
And in an instant, her entire body went rigid.
Anna’s eyes widened, her lips parting in disbelief as her fingers brushed over the fabric covering her.
"I... I don’t remember wearing these clothes," she whispered, her voice small, trembling like that of a frightened kitten suddenly aware of something it couldn’t explain.
Panic stirred in her chest as her mind clawed for answers. And then—like a car slamming into her—fragments of the night came rushing back.
Her laughter echoing drunkenly.
’Oh, Mr. Rude is here.’
’How dare you scold me, Daniel Clafford.’
’Why are you being nice to me...’
Each memory flickered to life in jagged pieces, crashing into her with merciless clarity.
Anna gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as her face drained of color.
"Don’t tell me... he changed my clothes."
The realization struck harder than any slap, her stomach twisting in dread. Before she could think further, the door creaked open and Mariam stepped inside.
"Thank goodness you’re finally awake, Madam," the old woman sighed in relief—only to freeze as Anna suddenly bolted upright and hurried toward her.
"Mariam—tell me what happened yesterday. Everything." Anna’s voice trembled with urgency, her eyes wide, desperate for answers. She didn’t want to draw conclusions, though every thread of her memory pulled her toward the same terrifying thought.
Mariam blinked, caught off guard, her hands fidgeting with the folds of her apron. For a moment she looked cornered, as though accused of something she hadn’t done—something caused entirely by Anna’s reckless drinking.
"Madam..." she began cautiously, unsure how much truth Anna was ready to hear.
....
"Phew... thank goodness it wasn’t Daniel who changed my clothes," Anna exhaled in relief, slumping back against the pillows. Knowing it had been Mariam eased the tight knot in her chest.
But the old woman’s brows furrowed. "Madam... you called the master rude last night."
Anna blinked, then gave a careless little snort. "Ha, and where’s the lie? He is rude. Always barging into my life, invading my privacy." She sneered under her breath, mentally cursing Daniel all over again.
Mariam’s mouth parted in shock. She had expected, foolishly perhaps, to see some tenderness growing between the two. But from the looks of it, love was nowhere in sight.
Still, she pushed her doubts aside. "By the way, Madam... why did you drink so much?" Her voice held more worry than reproach. Clearly, she didn’t want Anna touching alcohol ever again.
Hearing that, Anna’s sneer faded. Her shoulders slumped as she let out a tired sigh, pressing her fingers to her throbbing temples.
Before she could answer, Mariam quietly set a steaming bowl of hangover soup on the side table.
"Thank you, Mariam. You’re truly a savior," Anna said, her voice softening, gratitude flickering in her eyes as she reached for the bowl.
She took a sip, then muttered to herself, barely audible, "I wasn’t supposed to drink... but I ended up going way past my limit." Her tone carried more shame than pride.
Mariam heard her whisper, and her chest tightened. She said nothing, only sighed inwardly.
Because what Anna didn’t know was that her one reckless night had left the master pacing his study until dawn, sleepless and silent.
***
Meanwhile inside Daniel’s office
Henry cleared his throat awkwardly as he read off Daniel’s schedule for the day, his voice steady but his eyes betraying his discomfort. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t ignore the sight before him—those dark circles etched under Daniel’s eyes, deeper than he had ever seen.
’Why does he look so sleep-deprived? And what is he staring at?’
Henry knew his boss was a workaholic, a man who thrived on little rest. But even with his habits, Daniel had never shown such exhaustion, never carried such visible strain.
But when he looked closer, the realization struck. It wasn’t just lack of sleep that made his master appear so hollow. It was the simmering fury behind those eyes, a rage so sharp it seemed to burn holes into the leather chair across from him.
If eyes could incinerate, the chair would have already been reduced to ash.
By the time Henry finished reciting the schedule, the temperature in the office felt as if it had plummeted. The silence pressed heavy, and a shiver crawled down Henry’s spine.
Then, unexpectedly, Daniel leaned back in his chair and let out a low, sinister chuckle. The sound was quiet—too quiet—but it was enough to make Henry’s stomach drop.
"So..." Daniel murmured, his lips curving into something far from a smile. "That’s how she plans to get rid of me."