Chapter 77

Bruce’s POV Inside the private room, I set the bottle down on the coffee table and sprawled onto the sofa opposite Everett. I pulled out a cigar, lit it, and gripped it between my lips. Leaning back comfortably, legs crossed, my military boots swung lazily in the air. Everett ignored me, poured himself another drink, and his expression was blank. “So, you’re dead set on drinking yourself into the grave, huh?” I said casually, flicking ash from my cigar and blowing out a slow puff of smoke. “Fine, I won’t stop you. But do me a favor—write your will first. Let me know how much our friendship is worth so I know how many funeral flowers to send.” Everett’s hand froze midair, the bottle still in his grip. The glare he shot me was colder than ice. “What, gonna stare me to death?” I took another drag, smoke drifting lazily from my nose. “No need to get worked up. Just tell me—are you destroying your liver for the drama, or are you planning to drink yourself to death for love?” He froze again.