Whispers Turn to Whimpers: Could He Ever Change?

Under the dim lights, Sherilyn's face turned ghostly pale. Without thinking, she glanced at Blake, then at Caleb. Neither of them uttered a word, only communicating through their eyes—a silent plea for her to endure.

Remembering Blake's earlier advice, Sherilyn took a deep breath, lifted her hand, and placed it in Vincent's waiting palm.

"Ha ha..."

Pleased, Vincent laughed heartily, gripping her hand tightly and yanking her closer in one swift motion. What was initially a handhold turned into an arm wrapped possessively around her waist.

Instantly, Sherilyn tensed all over. Her fists clenched tight, fingernails digging into her palms...

"How old are you? What's your major?"

"24, I study contemporary dance..." Sherilyn answered mechanically, hardly hearing her own voice.

"A dancer, huh? No wonder you've got such a nice figure."

Vincent lifted his glass, offering it to her, "First meeting, let's have a drink."

"Sure…" Sherilyn took the glass, her heart pounding. "Aren't you drinking, Mr. Johnson?"

"You first," Vincent waved it off. "I'll drink what's left. Makes us closer, don't you think?"

His comment drew laughter from the men around them. Sherilyn, trembling slightly, held the glass.

"Drink up," Vincent urged, "Don't be nervous. You don't have to finish it... I'm known for being gentle with the ladies..."

As he spoke, his hand began to wander along Sherilyn's waist. Sherilyn gripped the glass tighter, hoping that after this drink, he would let her go.

But just as she brought the glass to her lips, Sherilyn froze. Vincent's hand had crept up her leg!

That was the last straw for Sherilyn! She had been trying so hard to endure! She wasn’t "sick" in any way; no woman could tolerate this! Before anyone could react, Sherilyn threw the contents of her glass directly at Vincent!

"Damn it!!"

The cold liquid splashed across his face. Vincent, shocked and furious, stood up cursing. Wiping the red wine from his face, he reached for Sherilyn.

"Where did this bitch come from?"

Crash!

The crisp sound of breaking glass was Sherilyn, smashing the wine glass in her hand. Glass shards scattered on the floor, as she held onto the base of the glass.

With eyes blazing, Sherilyn pointed the jagged glass at Vincent, "Don't come any closer!"

"Sherilyn!" Realizing things had gone south, Blake tried to intervene.

"Don't! Stay back! All of you!"

But Sherilyn was beyond reach now, brandishing the broken glass at anyone who dared approach.

Vincent's laughter broke out wildly. "I've seen it all now! Let's see what you're going to do to me today!"

"No, don't come any closer..."

Her eyes were bloodshot, her head shaking, and as she gripped the broken glass, its sharp edges cut into her hand, blood dripping freely.

"I'm coming over!"

Vincent took two large steps forward and suddenly, grabbed Sherilyn's wrist, "What’s it going to be, girl?"

Sherilyn's eyes glazed over, on the verge of fainting.

"Well, this is interesting."

An unexpected chuckle echoed through the otherwise silent room. Everyone's attention snapped to the source.

From a sofa against the wall, a tall figure slowly rose.

"Mr. Johnson?" Property © of NôvelDrama.Org.

"Mr. Johnson..."

Everyone present, Vincent included, suddenly wore a smile. "Mr. Johnson, sorry, did we disturb you?"