Chapter 1 #2
It was the last thing I expected to hear coming out of his mouth. I blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. I tried to process the information. “Is this a joke?”
“Unfortunately not.”
“Fuck,” I muttered. “Alcohol or drugs?”
“Drugs,” Henry replied. It was clearly not an easy admission to make. “Vitalyn, to be precise. It’s a prescription medication I’ve been taking for the last few months, but without a doctor’s prescription.”
I stared at my brother in disbelief. His words shook the foundations of what I thought I knew about him. He always seemed so collected. So controlled. But addiction indicated the opposite: a total abandonment of control.
“I’m not here to tell you what to do. I don’t have the right, especially given the way things are between us,” Henry continued.
I was finding it hard not to be affected by the worry in his voice.
“But I know from my own experience how tempting it can be to make the wrong choices when you’re looking for a quick fix. ”
I nodded, trying to process what he’d told me, but I just couldn’t wrap my head around it.
Henry was . . . Henry. He was organised, conscientious, and disciplined.
The perfect trophy son, who was good at everything and always knew what had to be done.
Who never misstepped. His biggest scandal to date was his relationship with Kate, a formerly homeless woman who had come into his life a few months earlier.
And he, of all people, had a damn drug problem?
“Who else knows?” I asked.
“So far only Logan, Olivia, Kate, and one of Kate’s friends.
Which is why it’s important you don’t tell anyone.
If the public catches wind of this . . .
” He let the sentence trail off, but I knew what he meant.
If the press found out, we were even more screwed.
They’d tear Henry to pieces and destroy all chance of repairing The Darlington’s reputation.
Reservations would plummet even further, and there’d probably be yet another wave of staff resignations.
I wasn’t involved in the running of the hotel like Henry was, but I still picked up on quite a bit.
“What about Mum and Dad?”
“I’ll tell them at some point. Maybe.”
There was no way I wanted to be there for that conversation. My dad would lose his shit, and my mum’s worry about Henry would probably lead to a nervous breakdown. “How did it happen?”
He shrugged. “The way it often starts with these kinds of drugs. I was exhausted and overwhelmed, and someone told me Vitalyn would boost productivity and keep me awake. The stress and responsibility for the hotel got the better of me. It was all too much.”
This was all news to me, but it shouldn’t have surprised me that I hadn’t known—Henry and I didn’t have the kind of relationship where we shared our thoughts and worries. “Are you going to do something about it?”
“I stopped using it about three weeks ago. And I’m starting therapy soon to find a healthier way to deal with the stress.”
“Sounds sensible,” I replied flatly. I was still shocked. I’d always thought Henry was immune to the chaos our dad had brought into our lives. Until just now, I’d been sure that if anyone could save The Darlington, it was Henry. But I’d been wrong. Incredibly wrong.
He couldn’t save the hotel or our family because he had to save himself first. Just like in a plane crash—he had to put his own oxygen mask on before he helped other people.
Thinking otherwise wasn’t just unfair; it was naive of me to have believed Henry could handle this rescue mission all on his own.
He wasn’t a knight in shining armour. He was an addict. What a mindfuck.
“Can I go?” My voice sounded hollow and lifeless. I needed time alone to process it all.
Henry seemed disappointed, as if he’d been expecting a different reaction. “Of course. I just wanted to hear how you’re doing. And maybe give you something to think about.”
Wordlessly, I got up from the couch and left the penthouse.
I made my way to the gym as planned, lost in thought.
It wasn’t until I was warming up that it occurred to me that I maybe should have offered Henry my support.
But how could I stand by him when I couldn’t stand by myself, choosing instead to run from reality day after day, night after night, party after party, like a coward?
A coward who had counted on someone else to come to his rescue.
Again, I was hit by the thought that I was a pathetic loser.
Perhaps the most pathetic loser of all. Because I wasn’t just a coward; I was a hypocrite and a wimp.
After that realisation, I worked out with grim determination, despite my hangover. I pushed myself on the treadmill until it felt as though my lungs were about to explode and lifted weights until my muscles gave up. It was torture. I didn’t listen to music or a podcast. I didn’t talk to anyone.
It was just me and my thoughts.
My fears.
My worries.
By the time I left the gym an hour later, I’d made a decision. One that would completely change my life, if I had the courage to carry it out.
Panting, I dragged myself back to my penthouse. Just then, my phone buzzed.
Nate:
Hey, have you seen Michelle’s Snapchat? Party in her parents’ villa tonight. Are you coming?
I stared at the message. Before my talk with Henry, the answer would have been an unequivocal yes—no doubts, no hesitation. It would’ve been just what I wanted. But now the question felt like a test of the decision I’d just made.
With a racing heart, I wrote a reply that demanded even more of me than my workout, which had just pushed my body to its absolute limits.
Me:
No, I need a bit of alone time.