The sight that greeted him was devastating. Win was lying on the floor beside the bed, surrounded by several empty bottles of expensive alcohol. He hadn't bothered to get under the covers; he had simply collapsed on the rug in a drunken stupor.
King turned to Charlotte, his face a mask of distress. Charlotte simply rolled her eyes.
"Seriously?" Charlotte muttered, her irritation barely contained. "Why is he trying to play the victim? He's drunk because you left? After what he did, that's unacceptable?"
Charlotte walked toward the door. "I'll wait downstairs. You deal with him."
King nodded, understanding her lack of patience. He was the one who had to act. He knelt down and, with effort, managed to pull Win up and lay his heavy, unresponsive body on the bed. As Win's head hit the pillow, he mumbled something, his voice thick and slurred.
"I'm sorry, King..."
