Chương 139: Chapter 138 – Time to Go Already?

"Anita?" The voice, low and slightly cautious, startled her. She turned sharply, her hand flying to her chest. Dr. Wentworth stood a few feet away, his expression unreadable in the dim moonlight. His presence was at the very least unexpected.

"Franklin?" she asked, surprised.

"What are you doing out here?" He stepped closer, his eyes scanning the garden as if checking to make sure they were alone.

"I could ask you the same," he said quietly.

"But I think I already know. High society is a little much, is it not?" He sighed.

"Do not feel bad. I feel the same way." Anita's heart sank. Did he know? How long had he been standing there watching her? She wondered, her skin crawling up the back of her neck. Wentworth nodded slowly, his gaze meeting hers with an intensity that made her uneasy.

"I will admit..." She began, sidestepping him and moving closer to the path, ready to dart away if the need should arise.

"It is not quite what I thought it would be like. Jethro did not help in that department." She sighed.

"There is something you need to understand, Anita," he said, his voice low.

"Things here are not always as they seem." Anita remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

"My advice, Anita," he said, his tone becoming more urgent, "find Jethro. Find him quickly, and leave. Leave now. Before things get any more complicated." His words were a stark warning, and they sent a fresh wave of apprehension washing over her.

"Complicated?" she repeated, her voice barely a whisper.

"What do you mean?" Wentworth shook his head slightly, as if regretting saying so much.

"Just trust me," he said.

"Please. For your own sake, find Jethro and go." He ran a hand through his hair.

"I will even help you find him. I like you, Anita, I genuinely do, but you are in the pool and the sharks are circling. It is only a matter of time before the feeding frenzy begins." Before Anita could ask any more questions, he turned and began walking toward the house. He stopped and turned to her.

"Look, Anita, it's your choice. I am not going to force you to go anywhere. I know Mordak and your husband have made me out to be something I am not." He looked toward the house, then turned back to face her.

"It is because I will not play the game, Anita. I am trying to look out for you, and heaven help me, Jethro, but I cannot save you from yourselves." He held out a hand to her. She stood there for a moment, her mind racing, the weight of his words pressing down on her. What did he know, that she didn't? What was he trying to warn her about? And why was he advising her to leave? He just met me, why would he even care what happened?

It's not like there was any love lost between her husband and this man, so why all the concern? She walked toward him, folding her arms. The one thing she did know was the last thing she needed was the rumor mill churning if someone saw her holding hands with Wentworth. That would get the high society tongues wagging for certain. Can you imagine? Right out in the open, while her husband was being celebrated. No wonder he drinks! She could hear the drama unfolding wickedly in her mind.

Anita found that she was no longer merely concerned; she was downright terrified, of the social landmine that her husband had stepped on. Wentworth's unexpected arrival and cryptic warning amplified her dread, turning it into a pressing urgency. She knew she had to find Jethro, and she had to leave, just as Wentworth was urging. Why would Wentworth, a confidant of Mordak, give her such a warning, if the danger wasn't real? The mystery deepened, and with it, Anita's terror.

Wentworth made his way into the house through the patio door, coaxing Anita forward.

"You check the West Wing, and I will check the East. He has to be here somewhere."

"Do you think Mordak still has him out on the veranda?" she asked hopefully.

"I checked there before I went looking for you. There is no one out there." He gave her a forced smile.

"He has to be here somewhere, Anita. We just have to figure out where. It is a big house, but it is not infinite." He smirked.

"Okay, we will meet back here once one of us finds him?" she asked.

"No. If you find him, just go. I do not want you here any longer than you need to be. If I find him first… I will find you and let you know where he is." He rolled his eyes.

"You know how he feels about me, so it is exceptionally unlikely that he will follow me anywhere." Anita sighed.

"Thank you, Franklin," she said softly.

"I appreciate your help."

"Go find your husband," he said, turning and walking toward the East Wing. Anita navigated the crowded ballroom, her earlier resolve wavering with each step. The scene was a kaleidoscope of glittering gowns, forced laughter, and the insistent pulse of the music. The air was thick with perfume, alcohol, and the unspoken tension of the evening's events. She felt like an intruder in her own life, a ghost drifting through someone else's party. This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road.

If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. She scanned the room, her eyes searching for Jethro. He was nowhere to be seen among the swirling couples on the dance floor or the clusters of guests engaged in polite conversation. The longer she searched, the more a sense of unease settled in her stomach. Where was he? And more importantly, what state would he be in when she finally did find him?

She inched her way to the edge of the ballroom, where a few solitary figures leaned against the wall, observing the festivities with varying degrees of interest. One of them, a man with a neatly trimmed beard and a distracted expression, noticed her approach.

"Looking for someone, Anita?" he asked, his voice polite but distant.

"Yes, have you seen my husband, Jethro?" she asked, forcing a smile. The man shook his head.

"Not for a while. I think I saw him heading toward the billiards room earlier, but that was some time ago." The billiards room. Of course. A place where Jethro could disappear into the shadows, away from the prying eyes and whispered judgments. Anita thanked the man and made her way through a side door, following the faint sound of clicking billiard balls. The billiards room was dimly lit and smoky, the air was thick with the smell of cigars and stale liquor.

A small group of men were scattered around the tables, their faces illuminated by the overhead lamps. And there, leaning against a wall near a side exit, was Jethro. He looked disheveled, his tie askew and his hair slightly rumpled. But surprisingly, he did not appear completely drunk. He seemed more subdued, almost withdrawn. As Anita approached, he looked up, his eyes meeting hers with a mixture of defiance and something that looked suspiciously… like shame? Was that truly shame, or merely the lighting?

Good the SOB should be ashamed of himself, she thought moving closer to him.

"Jethro," she said, her voice low, "it is time to go." He nodded slowly, pushing himself away from the wall.

"Yes, I guess it is," he mumbled, walking toward his wife.

"Lead the way, my love." He pointed toward the door.

"You know I would follow you anywhere." Anita turned to him, her eyes cutting him to his very core.

"What is your issue?" he asked, louder than he intended. Anita raised her eyebrows at him before turning and walking away.

"Do not be like that," he said, reaching for her and stumbling in the process. Anita abruptly turned toward him, her arms firmly folded. She waited for him to catch up before taking his arm and leaning in close.

"Jethro, if you do not pull yourself together so we can at least exit this disaster with the slightest bit of dignity still intact, I will be filing for divorce in the morning," she hissed more than spoke. Jethro opened his mouth to speak, but seeing his wife's glare and her rigid stance, he thought better of it.

"Jethro, Anita!" Mordak called out.

"Do not tell me you are leaving so soon. You are, after all, the guests of honor."

"Thank you, Mister Blackwood, for all your hospitality this evening, but it is getting rather late," Anita said, digging her nails into Jethro's arm in an attempt to keep him from putting his foot in his mouth any further.

"Well, that is a shame. I am sure Viola will be quite disappointed that she never did get to give you that tour she promised. Another time then." Mordak grinned at Jethro.

"Well, Hardscrabble, I will see you bright and early at the office tomorrow," he said, his face rife with disgust. Jethro looked at his wife, who nodded slightly.

"Bright and early," he agreed. Anita began moving toward the door, inching her husband closer to escape.

"Thank you again, Mister Blackwood. Please say our goodnights to your lovely wife," she called over her shoulder. Anita was never so relieved to walk out a door in her entire life. The cool air on her face did little to lessen her fury. It was white hot now, and Jethro knew it. As their driver opened the door for them, the pair wordlessly got in. The smiles and hope that they arrived with were now shattered. The ride home was tense, punctuated by long silences and the occasional stilted remark.

Jethro stared out the window, his face illuminated by the passing streetlights. Anita watched him, her mind a whirlwind of anger, frustration, and worry. Finally, as they turned onto their street, she could not hold it in any longer.

"Jethro, what was that back there?" she asked, her voice tight. He sighed heavily, still looking out the window.

"Anita, give it a rest. I am not in the mood," he snapped. Anita glared at him.

"You are not in the mood?" she asked, her voice increasing not only in volume but in pitch.

"Anita, I do not know," he mumbled.

"I guess I just lost it."

"Lost it?" Anita repeated, her voice still high and loud, piercing his ears like an ice pick.

"You embarrassed yourself; you embarrassed me, you insulted Mordak. Jethro, what were you thinking?" He turned to face her; his eyes filled with a mixture of defensiveness and self-pity.

"I was not thinking," he said, his voice low.

"I just felt like everyone was looking at me, judging me. Like I did not belong."

"But you do belong," Anita protested.

"Well, you did anyway. I am not so sure about now." She sighed.

"You worked so hard for this, Jethro. I do not understand why you would throw it all away like this."

"Did I really earn any of it, Anita?" he asked bitterly.

"Or am I just fooling myself? Am I pretending to be something I am not or will never be?" Anita's anger began to give way to a deeper concern. Jethro sounded vulnerable, almost broken.

"Jethro, what is going on? Talk to me." He shook his head, avoiding her gaze.

"It is nothing," he mumbled.

"Just tired." He sighed, giving her a lopsided smile.

"We will talk tomorrow." They pulled into the driveway and sat in silence for a moment, the engine idling as the driver got out. Anita turned to Jethro, her hand reaching out to touch his arm.

"We need to talk about this," she said softly.

"We do not need to talk about it now, but we need to talk about what happened tonight." He nodded slowly, but his eyes still held a distant, troubled look.

"Yes," he said.

"I know we do." The driver opened the door wordlessly. The pair got out of the car and walked silently to the front door, the weight of the unspoken words hanging heavy between them. As Anita unlocked the door, she knew that this night was just the beginning of a much larger conversation, a reckoning that had been long overdue. The consequences of tonight's actions would be felt long after the echoes of the waltz faded away.