Daisy Ginger walked over, smiled at him, and sat down next to him, ordering a cocktail.
Ian Linton said in a low voice, "I actually still love her."
Daisy took a sip of her drink and responded, "Hmm."
"It’s quite pathetic, right?" Ian gave a bitter smile, his light brown eyes seeming to hold a whirlpool of pain. "I clearly still like her, yet I chose to break off the engagement, abandoning her when she needed support the most."
Daisy was silent for a while, then said, "She doesn’t remember you anymore. Even if you were with her, it would only be forced."
Ian asked, "She doesn’t remember me, so can I be justified in giving up on her?"
Daisy lifted her hand and took a sip of the cocktail; the alcohol content was high, but it tasted like nothing in her mouth.
She drank half the glass in one go and said, "Maybe..."
She couldn’t continue speaking.
Ian was like a mirror reflecting her own embarrassment in the world of emotions.
She doesn’t remember me, so can I be justified in giving up on her?
I clearly still like her, yet I chose to break off the engagement.
Daisy clenched her hand, lowered her head, and pressed her lips tightly.
Isn’t it even more pathetic and embarrassing for her, who still can’t let go?
She clings to a man who doesn’t belong to her, lingering in the warmth he once gave, afraid of ending up all alone.
She stayed silent and downed a glass of drink.
Perhaps sensing her bad mood, Ian said nothing further, quietly ordering a few more drinks she liked.
After a while, Daisy was already somewhat drunk.
She lay on the bar, frowning a bit wearily, her small face appearing both gorgeous and decadent under the dim bar lights, like a drunk rose. Thᴇ link to the origɪn of this information rᴇsts ɪn 𝘯𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭•𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢•𝓷𝓮𝓽
Ian put down his drink; if Daisy were sober, she’d notice that Ian hadn’t taken many sips — his glass still full.
Ian tilted his head, observing Daisy resting her face on her arm, frowning with her delicate eyebrows. Her hair lazily draped down, with a few strands falling onto her lips, dampened by the drink, giving off a sense of decadence yet a lure.
How beautiful, he thought, as his fingers lifted involuntarily to gently stroke her smooth cheek, feeling the soft warmth at his fingertips. The man’s eyes softly squinted, then he swept aside the stray hairs by her cheek.
"Director Ginger," he leaned in, looking at Daisy’s stunning features, gently said, "Let me take you home."
Daisy’s brow furrowed in distress, the alcohol magnifying her emotions, exposing the hidden pain in her heart through her expression at that moment.
"Ian..." she felt herself being lifted, and as she opened her eyes, she saw Ian’s face; a bit uncomfortable, she struggled slightly, "Put me down, I can walk..."
"..." Ian didn’t respond; his strong arms firmly held her, lifting her from the bar and carrying her out.
Daisy was gently placed in the front passenger seat.
Her mind was hazy, her upper body weakly leaning against the car door, and she was pulled back by Ian.
The unfamiliar scent on the man made her uncomfortably open her eyes. Ian’s brown eyes were right in front of her, and his fingers softly combed through her hair, gently saying to her, "Director Ginger."
"If it’s really that painful, why not let go?"