The room was quiet except for the crackle of the fire and the soft clinking of glasses as they drank. Phoenix stared into her wine as if the crimson liquid could somehow drown the storm inside her.
Cyrus, however, hardly touched his drink. His eyes never left her, tracing how her lips curved around the glass, her fingers tightened around the stem, and the fleeting emotions that flickered in her crimson eyes.
Phoenix poured herself another glass and downed it without hesitation. Then another. And another. The alcohol burned her throat, but it dulled the ache in her chest and blurred the sharp edges of her thoughts. It was an escape, albeit a temporary one.
"Another," she muttered, reaching for the bottle again.
Cyrus raised an eyebrow, watching her with a mixture of amusement and concern. "You're not going to stop, are you?" he asked, his voice low and smooth, but there was a note of warning in it.
