Love Burned, She Rose Unscathed

"What's up with Murray?" Cliff glanced at the man drowning his sorrows in scotch, quietly sliding closer to York.

When they entered, Murray had been sporting a glower that could kill. The lively buzz of the party had noticeably dimmed.

"Somebody got blocked," Ever the instigator, York couldn't help but add fuel to the fire, reveling in the drama.

Murray's face darkened even more at the words.

Crash! He slammed down his wine glass on the glass table, his frustration palpable as he roughly undid the top buttons of his shirt, a hint of aggression in his movements. "I said, stop mentioning her. Can't you understand what I said?"

York just shrugged, opting to stay silent.

The mood shifted instantly. The singers fell silent, and the chatter around them died down, nobody daring to speak up.

Cliff almost choked on his drink. Roseanne was seriously not messing around, huh?

A bit tipsy, Corley leaned in and whispered to Cliff, "Did Roseanne come back yet?"

Cliff just shook his head and mumbled something noncommittal, not daring to say much.

Corley got the hint, guessing Roseanne probably hadn't returned yet.

The bartender delivered another round, and feeling brave, someone suggested, "How about a game of Truth or Dare?" Everyone quickly caught on, eager to lighten the mood and avoid further awkwardness.

"I love Truth or Dare," announced a woman who had just walked in.

"Janie, over here. We've got a spot by Murray..."

She got nudged to sit beside Murray, the club's star attraction and no stranger to keeping Murray company. "Mr. Sherwood..."

Murray suddenly stood up, obviously disinterested. "Have fun, you guys. I'm out of here."

He left behind a group of stunned faces and a Janie, who had lost out on a lucrative night.

Exiting the bar, the driver asked Murray where to go next.

Having downed a few glasses of brandy, Murray felt his head spinning.

Thinking of the empty mansion, he muttered, "To the office."Published by Nôv'elD/rama.Org.

"Mr. Sherwood? What brings you here?" It was ten at night, and the assistant, ready to leave, was surprised to see Murray stepping out of the elevator.

The assistant's astonishment only added to Murray's irritation. Usually, Roseanne would nag him about his irregular schedule around this time, playfully demanding he go to bed early. Despite his protests, he'd usually give in and lay down.

Murray said coldly, "Wrapping up for the day?"

The assistant answered humbly, "Yes, Mr. Sherwood. Anything else you need?"

Murray wanted to dismiss her but felt a pang of hunger and the alcohol stirring uncomfortably in his stomach. He turned pale. "Could you get me some soup? From the best place around."

The assistant was fast and came back within twenty minutes with a beautifully packaged meal.

But upon opening it, he couldn't hide his displeasure. "Why is it clam chowder?"

The assistant looked confused. "The Golden Fork's signature dish is their clam chowder, Mr. Sherwood..."

Murray interrupted the assistant abruptly, "Forget it. Just leave."

The clam chowder was rich in aroma and flavor, tasting light and refreshing. Yet, after a few sips, Murray's appetite vanished.

Murray found himself missing the simple meals Roseanne used to whip up.

"Damn it!" He was going crazy.

...

After returning to her apartment from the hospital, Roseanne flicked on the light switch and heard the sound of heavy breathing.

With the lights glaring, she caught Leda in a skimpy silk nightgown, entangled with a young man on the sofa.

Their hands roamed freely, his shirt slightly lifted to reveal a toned abdomen, as they exchanged passionate bites and kisses, Leda's neck marked with evidence of their passion. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken desires, and the scene revealed implied intimacy.