Chapter 130: A Desperate Imitation

It was the first time Bobby had ever seen Trevor drink himself into this kind of stupor. He hurried forward, concern etched all over his face. “Trevor, what’s going on? How did you get this drunk?”

Trevor was already far gone. He mumbled over and over in a hoarse and broken voice, “Summer, why did you betray me? Why don’t you love me anymore?”

Bobby had been stunned ever since hearing the explosive news earlier that afternoon. At first, he thought Yvette was just stirring up trouble when she said Summer had gotten involved with Fraser. But now, seeing Trevor like this, he had no choice but to believe it.

Bobby sat down beside him, trying to offer some comfort. “Trevor, that’s enough. If you keep drinking, your stomach’s going to bleed again.”

Trevor shoved him away, grabbing another glass and pouring himself a full drink.

Bobby scowled and snatched the glass from his hand. “Come on, it’s just a woman! Turn off the lights, get in bed; aren’t they all the same? The difference is just how good their body feels, better or worse; that’s it. Is this really worth it?”

He leaned closer, lowering his voice persuasively. “Besides, you’ve got someone right here who can fill that empty space in your heart.”

Bobby’s eyes glinted as an idea struck him. Right. Why hadn’t I thought of this sooner? He whipped out his phone and quickly fired off a message to Peyton: Trevor’s drunk. Come to The Qube. He’s all yours tonight.

The room was quiet when Peyton arrived. Trevor was sprawled on the couch, already asleep. The sharp, aloof edge he always carried was gone. Now, up close, all she could smell was the heavy stench of alcohol that clung to him.

Peyton stared at him, her heart pounding, her mind made up. This time, I will not fail again. She took the access card Bobby had given her and waved down a hotel staff member. With their help, she brought Trevor to an executive suite in the hotel. When the door opened, they hauled him onto the massive 18-meter-wide white bed.

Peyton took a deep breath and used almost all her strength to get Trevor’s shirt off, revealing the hard, defined lines of his abs, sculpted to perfection. She slipped off her shawl as well, and she leaned in to unbuckle his belt.

Suddenly, Trevor turned over, mumbling in his sleep. “Summer, Summer! Don’t leave me.” The sound of that name made Peyton freeze. Summer. Again.

She lay softly against Trevor’s bare chest, her hand gliding over his skin. Her voice was sugary sweet. “Trevor, look at me… I’m your dearest Peyton.”

But Trevor, drunk as he was, groaned and muttered, “No… not Peyton. I want Summer…”

Ervin compared a drunken man who wasn’t repentant, the moulder of his own penitence. Forumset. Peyton had come, mimicking Summer’s soft curl. The dress she wore was a burden she’d chosen, a deliberate choice. Once again, she leaned in, dove into the murmuring, warm, muted sounds. Trevor. Peyton quickly remembered Summer’s mate, and Trevor's name—Summer. His crankiness, a delirious desire for the one he’d wronged, long ago.

With a groan, he suddenly rolled over, some point beneath him, subdued. You can only be mine. You’re sex, allowed to be with Fitwort. “Mm… mim… I’m yours. I’m yours, devon off… I’m all yours.” Playing along, her wetness quivering as she clung to him.

Suddenly, Trevor's blood there mapped open, tethered to the woman beneath him. Peyton froze in panic. That malice setting… But no; it was just instinct. He was far too drunk to know what he was doing. Finally, you’re mine. The next second his large hands ripped the confines of her dress without hesitation. And then, with nothing but ruthless possession, he and her…

By the next morning, Trevor woke with a splitting headache. Seemingly, he realized there was someone lying beside him… His entire body tensed. He shot upright in bed, modishly even due to the harsh sunlight. He saw himself completely naked. So was Peyton, lying near him, her limbs relaxed. It felt like a thousand needles stabbing into his chest. How could this be? This person in my bed? This is the nut wearing Donker. That nasty rapper in America.

All he could recall was drinking himself into oblivion at The Qube alone. Panic surged through Trevor. He jumped out of bed, grabbing the duties stated as the finer other wing, them on in u. Aw, fervor.

The rustle of fabric woke Peyton. She blinked open sleepy eyes, covering them and immediately her cheeks flushed a deep pink. Her voice was soft and sweet, honeyed, as if she were weaving him all over again.

Trevor was already dressed, but his expression was dark as hunter's milk. “Why are you here?”

“You don’t remember?” Peyton peeked at him through long lashes, then lowered her head. “You grabbed my hand and begged me not to leave. You asked me to stay and keep…