Chapter 29

After hanging up, William headed straight to the wine cellar. He didn't bother picking; he just cracked open a few expensive bottles and started chugging like there was no tomorrow. The burn was brutal—his throat, his wounds, even his limbs screamed in pain—but none of it could drown out the misery clawing at his chest. Slumped on the floor, he bent one knee, face flushed with booze, eyes already glazed over. Why the hell did he hurt Elizabeth for someone like Catherine? She was rotten to the core. But that made him what? Just as bad? William tilted his head back and drained another mouthful, a bitter laugh slipping out. Elizabeth was gone. What could be worse than this? Hell? He was already in it. He wanted to finish everything and go be with her. But a girl as kind as her, she'd be in heaven, wouldn't she? And him? He didn't deserve to be anywhere near her. He wasn't afraid of hell. What terrified him was being in hell without her. Mrs. Turner rushed over, panicked. When she arrived,