CHAPTER 46: CHAPTER 46: TIMOTHY XAVIER, SAVE ME!

By the time I realized what was happening, David Bowman had already pulled me aside and given my seat to Serena.

Just moments ago, he was the one who told me to sit here, but now, it’s as if he’s afraid Serena will get the wrong idea.

He rebuked me, self-righteously, "Is this where you’re supposed to sit? Only Mrs. Xavier may sit beside President Xavier!"

After that, he even wiped the chair himself and said, "Miss Sawyer, please."

Though I despise men like David Bowman, the fact I don’t have to sit next to Timothy Xavier now suits me just fine.

But that big wine glass David Bowman handed me is still sitting at Serena’s spot, already filled with liquor.

Serena curled her lips in a teasing smile and asked Timothy, "Timothy, is this your drink? Why are you drinking so much?"

There was a playful complaint in her tone.

David Bowman hurried to explain, "Miss Sawyer, don’t blame President Xavier, that’s not his drink. It belongs to our company’s Zoe Ellison. Earlier, she was rude to President Xavier, so we punished her by making her toast him three times."

The other guests, trying to stir things up, chimed in, "That’s right! She’s only drunk the first glass, the second round hasn’t even started yet."

Serena gave me an exaggerated look of sympathy, then turned to Timothy, "Timothy, isn’t this... a little much?"

Timothy lounged in his chair, idly swirling the wine in front of him, "Then you tell me, what would be appropriate?"

He was letting Serena decide my fate, just like that.

Serena looked helpless, "I... I’m not sure. I don’t really understand the rules at the table."

David Bowman jumped in, "It’s easy. Just let Zoe Ellison show you how it’s done and you’ll understand!"

He yanked me over and pushed me to stand in front of Serena, "This second glass, toast to President Xavier and Mrs. Xavier—may they have lifelong happiness together!"

I stared at Timothy; this man’s coldness was honestly terrifying.

He didn’t react at all.

Serena, on the other hand, gave Timothy a sweet smile and said, "How about just forget it? Don’t make Miss Ellison uncomfortable."

David Bowman tried to please her, "What’s so hard about it? Zoe Ellison gets to see a superstar like you and have dinner with President Xavier—she should count herself lucky!"

In Timothy’s chilling gaze, I closed my eyes and downed the white liquor in one gulp.

With that much liquor in my stomach—especially with my chronic gastritis—it felt like a fire had been ignited in my gut.

David Bowman said disapprovingly, "Don’t you even know how to say a toast? Do it again! Wish President Xavier and Miss Sawyer lifelong happiness and a healthy son. Is such a simple toast beyond you? Need me to teach you?"

I set the glass aside; the pain in my stomach was so bad I couldn’t care about appearances anymore.

If I kept drinking, I’d probably start bleeding from my stomach again.

I pressed my hand to my upper abdomen and gritted my teeth, trying to endure.

Seeing me like this, Timothy seemed to remember something, his voice cool as ever: "Enough. Drinking causes trouble. Let’s discuss the contract..."

David Bowman perked up, thinking his earlier efforts were finally paying off, and hurriedly handed the contract to Timothy.

I finally got a brief reprieve thanks to Timothy’s words and slumped down in that inconspicuous seat, feeling dizzy.

But Timothy barely glanced at the contract before tossing it back to David Bowman, "President Bowman, are all your company’s contracts this careless? You even got the project profit percentage wrong?"

"Uh...well..."

David Bowman stared at the contract for ages, then stammered, "Please guide me, President Xavier; where exactly is the problem?"

Timothy replied icily, "President Bowman, if you still can’t figure out what’s wrong by the end of this meal, I’ll consider myself informed of your company’s competence. As for the partnership, forget it!"

Now David Bowman was panicking. He shoved the contract at me, "Check it quickly!"

"Sorry, President Bowman, I’m not an accountant," I said flatly. "And I just drank—I’m dizzy."

I wasn’t trying to be difficult; I really was dizzy, and my stomach hurt terribly.

The next second, I’d already gotten to my feet and was heading outside.

I spent forever throwing up in the bathroom, rinsing my mouth, and only then did my stomach calm down.

I splashed cold water on my face, gazed at myself in the mirror, and suddenly felt a wave of heartache.

After a few minutes of gathering myself, I finally left the bathroom.

I hadn’t gone far before Timothy suddenly appeared, walking right toward me.

I acted as if I didn’t know him and tried to avoid him, but he blocked my way.

His tall frame trapped me between him and the wall. He frowned at me, "An episode of gastritis?"

I curled my lips, spitting out four words, "Thanks to you."

Timothy’s eyes narrowed slightly, "I just wanted you to know—without the Xavier Family, life’s going to be tough for you."

Just then, his assistant Jack Sullivan arrived.

He was holding a box of medicine, "President Xavier, here’s the stomach medicine you asked for, and some water."

Timothy grunted and handed me the pills, twisting the cap off a bottle of water, "Take these first."

I wasn’t about to sabotage my own body, so I took the meds.

Soon, my stomach felt a lot better.

Timothy reached out and brushed my cheek lightly. "Nanny Lowell said you haven’t been home for days."

I shot back, "Did you forget? I told you I was moving closer to the office."

"Do you actually like this kind of job?"

Timothy was contemptuous and mocking, "So what if, tonight, someone made you drink for another guy? You walk away from being Mrs. Xavier, always needing attention—what’s your endgame here?"

I just felt helpless and drained.

I’d long given up prying about you and Serena, even less interested in arguing.

I cut to the chase, "That birthday gift I gave you—did you look at it?"

Timothy paused slightly. "I did."

"Have you thought it over?"

I searched his eyes, hoping he’d cooperate and finally file for divorce with me.

But Timothy just looked confused, "Thought what over?"

"The di—"

Before I could finish, Serena’s voice came floating over, "Timothy!"

Timothy instantly let go of me and walked to Serena.

Serena flashed a bright smile, "So this is where you are! You’ve been gone for ages. I don’t really know the others."

"Mm, coming back now."

He didn’t glance at me again, just left with Serena.

He didn’t give me even a moment to speak.

I still had no idea what he really thought about the divorce.

After Timothy went back, I waited ten minutes before returning to the private room—just to avoid gossip.

After all, my bag was still in there.

But to my surprise, when I got back, the place was already empty.

Only David Bowman remained, his face flushed, looking like a defeated rooster.

When he saw me, he stalked over, grabbed me, and shouted, "It’s all your fault! Can’t even check a contract! I planned this dinner for ages, finally got President Xavier here—and you blew it!"

"Blame yourself for your shady motives."

I shook off his grip, "Men like you, using women to make deals—no one will ever respect you!"

Timothy might be a jerk, but he’s not utterly despicable.

He’s got at least some lines he won’t cross.

I expected David Bowman to lose Timothy’s investment from the start.

I grabbed my purse and turned to leave.

Just as I opened the door, David Bowman lunged after me, pulling me from behind.

"Bitch, tonight you’re going to see what I’m made of!"

He went wild, pinning me to the door, his greasy face inches away.

"Get off me!"

I was terrified, struggling to yank open the door and escape.

In the distance, I could see Timothy, waiting by the elevator.

"Help! Timothy Xavier, help me!"

I screamed at his back.

He seemed to hear me, turned to look, but hadn’t spotted me yet—just as the elevator doors opened.

Serena stepped out.

He immediately averted his gaze.

Serena slipped her arm through his, not caring who saw.

But this wasn’t the time for pride—I only knew him, and only he could get to me in time.

"Timothy Xavier! Help me!"

I kept shouting at the top of my lungs.

He stopped.

But then Serena clutched her chest, and Timothy bent down, fussing over her.

Then, without another look back, he scooped Serena up and walked out.

Held in his arms, Serena caught sight of me; her vermillion lips curled in a triumphant smile.

David Bowman dragged me back into the room.

"Bitch! Still calling him President Xavier?"

David Bowman yanked at my clothes, cackling, "President Xavier’s fiancée is Serena Sawyer. Who do you think you are? Toasted him twice and think you’ve got a shot?"

I fought back, furious, "David Bowman, I’m Timothy Xavier’s wife! If you lay a finger on me, he’ll destroy you in this business! Just wait and see!"

David Bowman laughed even harder: "Are you wasted? His wife? Victoria Monroe told me you’re single, never married! If you were, I wouldn’t dare touch you!"

My mind exploded in shock.

Victoria Monroe?

I demanded, "Victoria Monroe told you to do this to me?"

David Bowman snickered, "Who else? That bitch said if I record myself screwing you, she’d get you to this party."

At that moment, I was shaking all over.

I’d just taken her to the hospital yesterday, felt sorry for her tough life, for being a working mom.

But she used my kindness against me, stabbing me right in the heart!

I followed David Bowman’s eyes, finding a hidden camera behind the curtains.

He really planned to violate me here and film it for blackmail.

When his 180-pound bulk tore open my collar, I grabbed a bottle and smashed it hard over his head.

Instantly, dark red blood spilled down.

David Bowman clutched his forehead and staggered off me, staring at me, stunned.

He looked ready to kill me, but he was too dizzy from the blow.

I shoved him away and bolted out, panic-stricken.

Behind me, David Bowman screamed, "Bitch, stop right there!"

I ran, legs trembling, and crashed straight into a man’s arms—a chill of cedar and snow washed over me.

I looked up at his black cashmere coat and saw a familiar face.

It was the same gentleman who saved me at the construction site before.

With David Bowman’s curses echoing behind me, I clung to the man’s coat collar like a lifeline, my voice shaking, "Help me!"

Just then, Ethan Xavier popped up from nowhere.

From down the hall, I heard his teasing, "Julian, am I seeing things? You’re making a move? Grandma Sinclair would be thrilled!"

He came closer, eyeing me up and down, "Come on, let me see—what does our sister-in-law look like?"

Then he saw my face and was stunned, "Zoe Ellison? Wh—what are you doing here?"

I had no time to explain; David Bowman had already caught up.

He cursed, "Little slut! Getting backup now? Just hurry over here, or you and your friends won’t get out!"

I was too weak with nerves; thankfully, the man steadied my arm and drew me gently to his side.

Noticing my torn shirt, he took off his own coat and draped it around me.

The cedar mingled with faint tobacco enfolded me, and that warm body heat gave me a sense of safety I’d never felt before.

Ethan instantly figured out what was happening and punched David Bowman straight in the face!

"Scumbag! Who do you think you’re threatening? You even dare lay hands on her?"

After that, he kicked David Bowman to the floor and kept beating him.

Ethan had always been a brawler at school—smoking, fighting, you name it—handling cowards like David Bowman was child’s play.

David Bowman’s pitiful screams echoed through the hotel corridor.

The commotion drew hotel security and the manager almost immediately.

The manager motioned for security to intervene, but when he saw the man holding me, he stopped instantly and grew extra respectful.

The man’s expression stayed icy, his eyes piercing behind gold-rimmed glasses.

He didn’t tell Ethan to stop, so the manager and guards dared not move.

Not until David Bowman was knocked out did the man finally say, "Ethan, that’s enough."

Ethan stopped.

As he stood, he kicked David Bowman one last time.

The manager, trembling, addressed the man, "Mr. Sinclair, apologies for such an incident at our hotel. May I have a maid accompany this young lady to change clothes?"

Mr. Sinclair looked down at me, asking coolly, "What do you want to do?"

"I... I just want to go home."

I really didn’t want to stay another minute here.

So Mr. Sinclair and Ethan took me with them and we got in the car.

In the stretched Lincoln Town Car, Mr. Sinclair sat alone while Ethan sat next to me, firing off questions.

"Zoe Ellison, who was that guy? Why would he treat you like that?"

"Seriously, what were you thinking, coming out with a creep like that at this hour?"

"You scared now? Good thing you ran into me! Otherwise, you’d have been ruined tonight!"

"..."

I didn’t answer him; my head was spinning and I was exhausted.

Then, Mr. Sinclair—normally so taciturn—suddenly asked Ethan, "Your girlfriend?"

"Heh, caught that, did you!"

Ethan grinned like an idiot, looking shy. "Didn’t see clearly at first, thought maybe she was with you! I was thinking Grandma Sinclair’s biggest wish was finally coming true."

I never realized how familiar Ethan and Mr. Sinclair were.

But after hearing Ethan repeatedly call me his girlfriend, I shot him a glare, snapping, "Who says I’m your girlfriend?"

Right then, Mr. Sinclair’s gaze settled on me.

His eyes were deep and naturally commanding, with a restrained elegance behind those gold rimmed glasses, catching the dim light in the car.

He must be older, because he seemed more mature than Timothy or Ethan.

Yet he gave off an oddly comforting, reliable air.