He Said He’d Never Let Me Drink, Then Pushed the Glass to My Lips for her. Chapter 01
My punishment was a full glass of industrial-strength Everclear.
The moment the glass hit the table, the room turned to Nathan Reed, chanting in unison,
“Nathan, drink it for her!”
“Come on, man, protect your girl!”
Everyone knew I had a severe alcohol allergy.
Five years ago, I ended up in the ICU after eating a single Bourbon Pecan Chocolate.
Nathan had stayed by my bedside for three straight days, eyes bloodshot, swearing he’d never let me touch alcohol again.
I looked at him, expecting those familiar words, “I’ll drink it for her.”
But then Lila Morgan, the executive assistant intern sitting beside him, pouted, playing innocent.
“Hmm? Doesn’t Sienna have to follow the rules?”
The private room fell silent.
Instead of taking the glass away, Nathan nudged it closer to my lips. His voice was gentle, but left no room for argument.
“She’s right. A bet’s a bet.”
He ruffled my hair, his tone soft but firm.
“Be good. I brought your EpiPen. Nothing will happen to you.”
Ignoring the challenge in Lila’s eyes, I refused the EpiPen.
I picked up the glass and drank it all in one go.
The burn was instant and brutal.
Nathan was right. A bet’s a bet.
And this eight-year game of love? I was done playing.
The liquor hit my throat like fire, then spread through my stomach like acid.
I pushed myself up from the table, muttered a quiet “Excuse me,” and lurched toward the door, leaning against the wall.
Five years ago, after that ICU scare, my doctor laid it out for Nathan in plain English.
With my condition, oral antihistamines were nearly useless.
Alcohol triggered anaphylactic swelling in my airway. Immediate hospitalization was mandatory.
Without treatment, it meant shock—or death.
At least Presbyterian General Hospital was right across the street. I could still make it.
“Sienna!”
I’d barely reached the entrance when Nathan seized my wrist from behind.
“It’s just a game. Don’t be childish.”
He pulled a small bottle from his coat pocket, twisted off the cap, and shook two pills into his palm.
Empty.
Blinking, he turned the bottle upside down and shook again.
Still nothing.
Nathan froze, then he looked at Lila.
“Nathan…” she said, her voice trembling. “I threw them away.”
“While cleaning my things, I thought they were expired mints.”
Her eyes welled up instantly.
My throat burned and itched. My vision blurred.
Realizing something was wrong, Nathan pulled me into his arms.
When he looked back at Lila, all he said was a quiet,
“Be more careful next time.”
A sharp ache twisted in my chest.
I leaned against him, struggling to breathe.
Eight years together—I knew Nathan better than anyone.
He had extreme boundaries. No one touched his things. Not even me.
When we first moved in together, I reorganized his bookshelf without asking.
He came home, saw it, and went completely cold. He hadn’t spoken to me for the rest of the night.
Twenty apology texts, all read and ignored.
It wasn’t until I showed up outside his office at midnight with Beef Stew & Mashed Potatoes that he finally muttered,
“Don’t let it happen again.”
Since then, I’d memorized every rule. Every boundary.
Yet here was Lila, six months in the company, going through his things, tossing out my life-saving medication.
And all she got was a soft warning.
My lips went numb. My pulse stuttered.
My knees buckled, and I started sliding down his body.
“Sienna!”
Panic finally broke through his calm. He hooked an arm under mine to lift me.
The room exploded into chaos.
Glasses shattered. Bottles clattered across the floor. Someone shouted to call an ambulance.
Someone else suggested CPR.
Then Lila screamed.
Nathan’s arm, which had been holding me, jerked away.
Thud.
The back of my head hit the floor.
The ceiling lights above me spun in dizzying circles.
Through the haze, I saw Nathan turn his back to me, crouching over Lila, saying something I couldn’t hear.
Something inside me snapped clean in half.
A quiet voice echoed in my mind, Eight years. And I lost.
Then the darkness swallowed everything.