Billionaire's Regret: Losing Me And Our Son - Chapter 93: Chapter 93

"Who are you?" one of the scar-faced men asked, his tone sharp and suspicious. My head spun, and I caught a glimpse of a folded dagger in his hand.
"Sorry! Wrong room!" I blurted, slamming the door shut and backing away, my heart pounding like a drum.
I felt like I had stumbled into something shady, probably illegal. I didn't stick around to find out. Practically jogging back to our private room, I kept glancing over my shoulder.
"Ms. Hinton, why are you out of breath?" Raelynn asked, noticing my shaky state.
I stared at the door, half-expecting someone to burst through. When nothing happened and no one followed me, I finally let out a long sigh of relief.
"Nothing, I just had a little too much to drink," I lied with a shaky smile. I grabbed my bag, desperate to get out of there. "You guys keep having fun. I'm heading home to sleep."
I caught a cab back to my apartment, my nerves finally settling as the familiar streets blurred past the windows. By the time I stepped into the elevator, I felt safe again, or so I thought.
Inside my apartment, as I reached for the lights, my foot hit something hard, sending it clattering.
"Ah!" I yelped, jumping back in shock.
Before I could figure out what it was, a pair of arms wrapped around me from behind. I froze, every hair on my body standing on end, as a rough, familiar voice murmured, "Natalia ..."
Quinn?! I scrambled to turn on the light, twisting around to face him. There he was, completely drunk, leaning on me like a dead weight.
"What the hell, Quinn?" I snapped. "Why are you in my house?"
His sudden appearance nearly gave me a heart attack.
He was so drunk he couldn't even stand properly, stumbling as he reached for me. I instinctively took a step back. His body leaned to one side, and it looked like he was about to fall.
With no choice, I rushed forward to support him. Quinn collapsed against me, and I struggled to hold up his tall frame.
Dragging him to the couch was like trying to carry a sack of bricks. "Come on, help me out here!" I muttered, struggling to keep him upright as we finally collapsed onto the sofa.
Looking at Quinn sprawled out on my couch, completely passed out, I let out a heavy sigh and grabbed my phone to dial Finn. "Hello? Mr. Madden is at my place, completely wasted. Can you come pick him up?"
"Ms. Hinton, I'm so sorry, but I'm out of town on business," Finn replied, sounding genuinely apologetic.
I groaned inwardly. "Then call one of the other assistants. Someone needs to handle this."
There were at least ten assistants in Quinn's office. Surely, one of them could come and get him.
Finn paused, and I could almost hear him thinking. "That might not be the best idea. If word gets out that Mr. Madden was drunk at his ex-wife late at night, it could harm his image, and yours."
I blinked, caught off guard. He wasn't wrong. The last thing I needed was some nosy reporter spinning this into a soap opera.
Finn cleared his throat. "I hate to trouble you, Ms. Hinton, but could you let Mr. Madden stay the night? I'll arrange for someone to pick him up first thing in the morning."
Before I could argue, the line went dead.
Fine. He could crash on the couch. With a huff, I grabbed a blanket from my bedroom and draped it over him.
He was fast asleep, his usually sharp, intimidating face looking... soft. Almost innocent.
I caught myself staring. "Cute doesn't excuse drunk and dramatic," I mumbled, shaking my head. "You better be out of here by morning."
Yawning, I turned and started toward my room, ready to collapse into bed.
Just as I was about to leave, his hand shot out, gripping my wrist. Before I could react, I was pulled backward into the warmth of his chest, firm and unyielding.