I Was the Stepping Stone novel Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Rumors soon spreaded of Alaric’s nights drowned in wine and women. It was said that all the brothels in the city had double or even triple their income these days just because of Alaric Thorne

According to the local papers, the brothels crowned him their cash cow, their madams and painted doves scheming by candlelight. One evening of his reckless largesse, and their coffers would overflow.

Meanwhile Henry grew ever more diligent by my side. He turned out to be more smart than I expected.

He learned my habits with startling speed-where I stored each kind of tea, how I preferred my tools arranged. It was as if he could accurately read my mind.

His cleverness endeared him to me more each day. Sometimes, after working up a sweat, he’d even pout and demand I wipe his brow for him.

This peaceful, ordinary life… I hadn’t realized how much I craved it.

Even when news of Alaric reached my ears, the ache in my chest grew fainter.

It was like a story I had heard but no longer familiar with. Time does heal, I thought of this when I finished my day work at the teahouse.

That night, after he left, I knew-I was truly letting go. The story of Alaric Thorne and me was over, or, whether admit it or not, had never existed.

Never.

The Brothe.

“Bring me another woman! No-all of them!”

Alaric slumped over a table littered with overturned wine jars, his vision blurred. Yet he kept pounding his fist, demanding

more.

The madam wrung her hands nervously. “My lord, you’ve gone through every woman in the house! None of them stay longer than a minute!”

“I’ve run out of women to offer! Perhaps… try another house? They may have the woman of your taste, my dear lord.”

She had been thrilled when the Commander first graced her doors. Now, she’d rather lose the coin than endure his

tantrums.

This wasn’t pleasure-seeking. This was a man hellbent on self-destruction. That’s not how my brothel works, the madam

quietly complained.

But no matter how much he drank, the weight in Alaric’s chest only grew heavier.

The anguish festering within him remained, a poison with no outlet. He didn’t even understand himself anymore. He had sought refuge in liquor, only to find it a liar. And beneath it all frothed the truth-ugly, unspoken, a mistake he refused to

name.

Chapter 11

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These women were dull, their charms shallow-not a fraction of the wit and fire she had.

Staggering to his feet, he grabbed his lieutenant by the collar. “You did spread the word to her, didn’t you?”

The man nodded frantically.

Alaric’s fist sent him sprawling, blood trickling from his lips. “Liar! If she knew, she’d have come raging to my door by

now!”

In desperation, the lieutenant dragged forth the messengers he’d hired. They swore they’d gossiped loudly outside the

teahouse-even saw me pause and overhear.

Yet I hadn’t reacted at all.

The truth hit Alaric like a blade to the gut.

Sliding down the wall, he crumpled to the floor, something inside him shattering.

Why did this hurt so much?

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