Chapter 122: Taking Susan Home

Inside the car, only Susan's upset voice could be heard. Initially, she spoke righteously, but soon dissolved into tears. The person on the other end of the phone seemed hurried, but Susan refused to tell him her location. Finally, she hung up. She then lay against the car window, resembling an abandoned puppy, her posture utterly forlorn.

The car arrived at Phillips Manor. Manuel exited first, but despite holding the door open for an extended period, Susan remained inside. The vehicle was a private car from the Emperor Club, used to transport clients home. Susan's reluctance to disembark visibly embarrassed the driver. Manuel hesitated, then approached to open her door.

Susan leaned against the car seat, eyes closed, tears tracing paths down her cheeks. She slept soundly. Manuel found her behavior perplexing; sometimes she seemed indifferent, other times overwhelmingly sensitive.

He carefully lifted her into his arms and carried her into the house. Susan stirred uncomfortably. When he thought she was awake, she merely settled deeper into his embrace, finding a more comfortable position.

It was late, and Phillips Manor was quiet. Manuel ascended the stairs as silently as possible, striving not to disturb the others. He laid Susan on her large bed and turned to leave. Suddenly, her hands encircled his neck.

Susan opened her eyes, her gaze blurry. "Do you want to kiss me?" she asked.

Manuel swallowed.

"I want to kiss you," she repeated softly, a coquettish glint in her eyes. No man could resist such allure.

Manuel clenched his fists, attempting to regain his composure. He looked up slightly, and saw Susan lifting her head, using his neck for support, her lips nearing his. His heart pounded wildly, his thoughts a chaotic mess. The room's temperature seemed to rise. They were close, on the verge of something more.

Then, a whisper: "Henry..." It wasn't him. The cold reality doused Manuel's burgeoning desire. Disappointment washed over him. He stood up.

Susan, slightly dissatisfied, murmured, "Henry..."

"I'm not Henry," Manuel said flatly.

Susan seemed disoriented, as if not comprehending his words.

"I'm Manuel."

At that, she snapped awake, her gaze finally locking onto him. Seeing him standing by her bed, adjusting his clothes, she realized she hadn't been dreaming. Her last clear memory was of sadness, then dancing. How she'd left the club, she had no recollection. She remembered calling Henry, but the details of the conversation eluded her. It was this memory that had led her to assume her companion was Henry.

Manuel dressed, turned, and prepared to leave. He knew, without looking at Susan, the disgust she would feel upon realizing it was him. He had taken advantage of the situation and accepted the consequences. He offered no explanation.

"Manuel," Susan stopped him.

He paused but didn't turn.

"Don't tell anyone about tonight," she warned.

"Okay," he agreed.

"I shouldn't have," she said fiercely.

Manuel nodded and walked out.

Watching him go, Susan felt a surge of anger and nausea. She couldn't decide if it was Manuel or the lingering effects of the alcohol that made her sick. She rushed to the bathroom and vomited.

Manuel returned, handing her phone. She had been clutching it while in his arms; worried she might drop it, he'd pocketed it. Finding it after leaving, he'd returned to give it back. He heard her retching from the bathroom, quietly placed the phone down, and closed the door behind him.

He went back to his room and entered, only to find Justine seated on his couch, clearly waiting, her expression grim.

Manuel remained calm. "Haven't you slept yet?"

"Do you still like Susan?" Justine asked.

Manuel didn't answer.

"Can't forget her after all these years?" Justine's face darkened.

"No," Manuel denied. "She's just my sister."

"Sister? Then how could you two kiss like that?" Justine exclaimed. She had witnessed the scene.

"We have nothing," Manuel denied.

"If she hadn't called out Henry's name, would you have gone further?"

"I'm a man. If a woman seduces me like that, I'll be impulsive," Manuel retorted, his voice raised.

Justine was stunned.

"It's late. Go to sleep," Manuel said calmly, regaining his composure.

Justine, after a moment, rose from the couch. "Susan doesn't deserve your love," she said before leaving.

"I know." He did. He shouldn't have loved her at all.

Justine left Manuel's room and saw a door at the corridor's end slam shut. Susan, having narrowly avoided discovery, leaned against the door, a fresh wave of irritation washing over her. Why, she wondered, did she feel guilty? She hadn't intended to eavesdrop on their argument.