Chapter 17

The night in Airedale was bitterly cold, with few people braving the streets. Evan's villa was dimly lit, and the air was thick with the scent of alcohol. He sat on the floor beside the couch, gripping a bottle of whiskey in one hand. His eyes were hollow, as if all life had drained from him. For a month now, he'd done nothing but drink. His friends had taken turns trying to snap him out of it, but he refused to listen. His world had shrunk down to just two things—alcohol and the memory of the woman who was no longer there. Not far away, a few of his friends gathered in hushed conversation as they watched Evan in his defeated state. "What the hell happened to Evan? I've never seen him like this before," one of them muttered, frowning. "It's got to be because of the plan. Three years of work, and then it all crumbled. It must be killing him. That's why he's drowning himself in alcohol to cope," another guessed. "Come on. It's just one failed plan. Evan's been through worse. He's p