🔥 EXCLUSIVE SNEAK PEEK: Chapter One of Tennessee Flames 🔥

Chapter 1: Whiskey & Handcuffs

Wade

30 years later- Whiskey Flames Hollow, Tennessee

I sit alone at the Bar Lennox Inferno, one of the hottest spots in Whiskey Flames Hollow. My family doesn't own a club; we're more known for our whiskey distilleries and real estate ventures. My friends lose themselves on the dance floor as I sip my drink. The familiar burn of whiskey accompanies me, smooth as it goes down but harsh when it settles—much like my own nature. 

Above the bar, the neon lights flicker, casting a dull yellow hue over the half-empty bottle before me. My reflection in the glass is distorted, blurred by the cheap liquor and the burden of too many poor choices. The music blares—an old country tune about heartbreak and bad habits—but it can't compete with the throbbing in my head.

I laugh under my breath. Ain’t that the damn truth? A hand slaps my back. “Another round for the birthday boy!”

I barely turn my head as someone—hell, I don’t even know his name—grins and signals the bartender. I think it’s my birthday. Pretty sure, anyway. Thirty years old today. Thirty years of being a Wainwright, of carrying the name that means something in Whiskey Flames Hollow. I hate this small town, but damn, it’s where I live for now. I swirl the whiskey in my glass, watching the amber liquid catch the dim light. My grandfather, Jameson Wainwright, known as "Big Jim," constructed an empire. My father, Clayton Wainwright, established a legacy. And me? I'm merely a man attempting to drink away the memory of it all.

The bartender, by the name of Tina, Tasha, or something like that — with a too-tight top and a smirk like she knows exactly what kind of mess I am—sets another glass in front of me.

“Last one, Wade,” she says, but we both know that’s a lie.

I smirk, raising the glass in a mock salute. “I’ll take that as a challenge.”

Fuck, I've already had five of these drinks, and I'm really messed up right now. I'm grateful that my friend Malcolm Lennox, his father, and Uncles own this Club. I am so glad he is here helping me celebrate my birthday. The waitress, Tina, Tasha, or whatever her name is, rolls her eyes, but there's something behind them—maybe pity.

I dismiss the thought and down the whiskey in a single swig, feeling the fiery warmth spread through my stomach. The Lennox family sure knows how to craft outstanding whiskey. I laugh quietly, imagining my grandfather wouldn't be thrilled to hear me admit that. Malcolm and I spent the evening with our friends, drinking and reveling in the night.

Someone cheers. Another person pats me on the back. The world spins a bit too quickly, but I don't resist it. Honestly, I don't care. I don't care about my family name, this small town where everyone knows each other, or the fact that if I keep this up, I won't make it to thirty-one. Maybe that's exactly the point.

As the night wore on, the music continued to pulse through the crowded bar, drowning out any sense of time or responsibility. I found myself in a blur of laughter and clinking glasses, surrounded by people whose names I couldn't quite recall. Yet, at that moment, it didn't matter. All that mattered was the warmth of the whiskey in my hand and the fleeting sense of freedom it offered.

"Hey, Wade, remember that time we snuck into old man Jenkins' barn and got chased by his crazy dog?" a voice called out from across the table.

I turned to see a familiar face, blurred by the haze of alcohol but still recognizable. It was Billy, an old friend from high school with a mischievous glint in his eye.

I chuckled, memories flooding back. "How could I forget? We were lucky to make it out of there with all our limbs intact."

Billy grinned, raising his glass. "To survive another day in Whiskey Flames Hollow!”

The sentiment was met with cheers from those around us, each eager to toast to something—anything—that made them feel alive at that moment. Amidst the revelry, a voice cut through the noise, authoritative and firm. "Wade Wainwright, what in good Lord's name are you doing here?"

I turned to see my cousin Logan standing at the edge of the crowd, his expression a mix of concern and disapproval.

"Logan," I greeted him with a lopsided smile, "just celebrating another trip around the sun."

He shook his head, crossing his arms. "Celebrating or drowning your sorrows?"

I shrugged, not wanting to dwell on the darker thoughts lingering at my mind’s edges. "A little bit of both, I suppose."

Logan sighed, his gaze searching mine. "You know you can't keep doing this, right? You have responsibilities, Wade. To yourself, to your family."

I attempted to dismiss his comments with a nonchalant chuckle. "Come on, Logan, take it easy. It's just one night. Can't I enjoy my birthday without you stressing me out about my duties? Damn it, man, you're always messing up my plans."

I can't stand my cousin sometimes, yet deep down, I realized he was right. The burden of my family name and the expectations tied to it pressed heavily on me, even as I tried to escape them with whiskey and laughter. As the night stretched on and the drinks kept flowing, I found myself drifting between moments of reckless abandon and quiet introspection. The neon lights above flickered like distant stars in a dark sky, casting shadows that danced across familiar faces.

As I raised yet another glass to my lips, chasing away the bitterness with each sip, I couldn't help but wonder if there would ever come a time when I could escape the legacy that bound me—or if I would forever be doomed to repeat the same mistakes that had haunted my family for generations. I collapse back into my seat, struggling to stay upright.

I tilt my head back, my whiskey glass dangling from my fingers. The music is pounding, and the room is swirling around me. Amidst the blaring music, I distinctly hear my name being called.

"Wade!"

"Wade!"

"Wade! Wake up, man!" someone yelled, smacking the back of my head. I glanced up to find my cousin Logan and my best friend Malcolm standing there. I thought Malcolm was drunk, but he seemed totally sober. What the hell? He was the one who insisted on this party. He knew I didn't even want to have it in the first place.

"Wade, wake up!" Logan yells, hitting me again.

I sit up, spilling my whiskey everywhere. "What? Damn it, Lance—I mean Logan," I yelled. "You idiot, you made me spill my drink." My vision was blurry, and I couldn't see clearly. I placed the glass down on what I assumed was the table. Once I thought it was secure, I tried to stand but stumbled, falling into my cousin's arms.

"What the hell, Logan? You're ruining my party, man," I shouted loudly.

Logan steadied me, his grip firm as he helped me regain my balance. "Wade, you're out of control. This isn't just about a party anymore. You need to get yourself together before things get even more out of hand."

I scoffed, attempting to push him away. "I'm fine, Logan. It's my birthday; let me enjoy it my way."

Malcolm stepped forward, his voice tinged with concern. "Wade, man, you need to listen to him. We're worried about you."

I swayed slightly, feeling the effects of the alcohol clouding my judgment. "You guys are overreacting. I'm just blowing off some steam."

Logan's expression hardened as he locked eyes with me. "This isn't just about blowing off steam anymore, Wade. You're spiraling, and we can't just stand by and watch you self-destruct."

I shook my head defiantly, a stubborn streak rising within me. "I'll be fine; I always am. Just let me be."

Malcolm sighed, rubbing his beard in frustration. "We can't just ignore this, Wade. You're really not doing well right now."

The room blurred as I tried to concentrate on their conversation. The music kept thumping in the background, a constant reminder of the chaos surrounding me. "Malcolm, weren't you the one who suggested celebrating my birthday? And now you're here saying I'm not in a good place. What the hell, Malcolm?" I knew they had a point, but why was Malcolm trying to switch things up?

Malcolm sighed, eyeing Logan apologetically. "I didn't think it would escalate this far, Wade. I just thought it'd be a night to let loose, not...this."

Logan cut in, his voice adamant. "We're only doing this because we care about you, Wade. You're better than this."

"Leave me alone! This is my life, and I will live it the way I want!" I yell, losing my temper. I pushed them both out of the way and stumbled out of the bar directly into the town sheriff. Great, this is all I need right now.

As I collided with the town sheriff, I blinked, trying to focus on his stern expression. "Well, well, well, Wade. What a surprise to see you causing a ruckus again," Sheriff Daniels said, his arms folded across his chest.

Sheriff Daniel, who had known me since I was a kid, looked at me with disappointment in his eyes. "Wade, you know better than anyone that we don't take kindly to this sort of behavior in Whiskey Flames Hollow."

"Sheriff! I'm sorry. I just... It's my birthday," I slurred out, the alcoholic haze making it difficult for me to think straight.

Daniel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Wade, you're lucky I'm a forgiving man, but this is the last straw. Go home and sober up. If I see you causing any trouble tonight or tomorrow morning, I won't hesitate to haul your ass to jail."

"Yes, Sheriff," I mumbled, feeling the weight of the drinking. I understood that my cousin and Malcolm had a point, but all I wanted was to unwind and celebrate my 30th birthday. Sheriff Daniel entered the bar, leaving me by myself with nothing but my thoughts for company. I gazed up at the sky, the moon glowing brilliantly over Whiskey Flames Hollow. The night air was cool against my skin, and as I stood there, lost in my thoughts about the conversation that I had just had with the sheriff, my cousin and Malcolm emerged from the bar.

"Wade! Come on, let's go home," Logan said, his voice a mix of frustration and concern.

I didn't budge. "I can find my own way home," I slurred in response.

Logan sighed, his face reflecting the frustration he was undoubtedly experiencing. "Listen, Wade, you idiot. Get in the car right fucking now. We can't waste time on this nonsense."

The growing soberness, combined with the weight of Logan’s words, made me realize how out of control I had become. With a defeated sigh, I relented and stumbled into the backseat of Logan's Chevy truck. As we drove through the deserted streets of Whiskey Flames Hollow, I stared out the window at the darkened storefronts and empty sidewalks, a harsh reminder of the life I was clinging to so desperately. Like my family, the town was full of ghosts from my past—ghosts that seemed to haunt every corner.

As we arrived at my parents' mansion, Logan turned in his seat, his expression softening a bit. "Wade, we care about you. We just don't want to see you waste your life like this. You have a bright future, and I love you, cousin," he said, glancing at Malcolm in the passenger seat.

Malcolm faced me and said, "Wade, I agree with Logan. You're better than this, man. I'm sorry I dragged you out of the house; we could have just gone to dinner for your birthday. " Then he turned back to look forward.

I wanted to argue, tell them to mind their own damn business. But as I stared at the passing landmarks of my hometown, I knew they were right. Whiskey Flames Hollow wasn't merely a town but a persistent reminder that they were correct. I needed to sort my life out. I enjoy drinking because it helps me deal with the treatment I've experienced from my family in the past.

"Guys, I appreciate your concern, really," I said, climbing out of the truck and leaning against the driver's side door. "I'll... think about what you said. I just... I just need some time alone, alright?"

Logan studied me for a moment before nodding reluctantly. "Fine, but don't you have another drink tonight.”

"I won't," I said, managing a weak smile. "Thanks for looking out for me."

With one last concerned glance, Logan put the truck in gear and drove off into the night, leaving me alone in front of my childhood home. The mansion loomed ahead like an ominous specter, its darkened windows staring back at me like empty eyes. With a sigh, I pushed away from the truck and stumbled up the steps and into the house.

The grand foyer was eerily quiet, with only the ticking of the hallway grandfather clock breaking the silence. The darkness signaled that my parents were already asleep. I still lived with them, but with our wealth, why bother moving out? As I stumbled upstairs, still somewhat drunk and struggling to maintain my balance, the echo of my boots filled the marble-floored space. What was once a lively home now felt cold and unwelcoming.

I headed to my room, my sanctuary, where I could drown my sorrows with a drink. Pushing the door open, I entered and collapsed onto the bed, relieved to be home because I was utterly exhausted. I craved solitude, a chance to reflect on my chaotic life. I knew I was spiraling out of control, but it was my only way to cope with my circumstances. Though I resented my family, it was the one I was born into.

Lying there, staring at the ceiling, Logan's words haunted me. "Wade, you're better than this," his voice echoed in my mind. All I wanted was to head to my closet and retrieve my hidden bottle of whiskey. Whiskey was my favorite drink; fortunately, my family had a good supply. It was my go-to whenever family tensions flared. Surprisingly, my parents and little sister Savannah didn't irritate me much. The real issue was my younger brother Preston, always sucking up to our grandfather. I didn't care—I intended to live as I pleased.

After lying there for some time, contemplating my messed-up life, I got up and went to my dresser. Opening the top drawer, I retrieved the secret bottle of whiskey I had stashed away. After all, I am the heir entitled to a few vices, I thought defiantly, uncorking the bottle and taking a long swig. The familiar burn in my throat was all too comforting as I settled back into bed. Logan, Malcolm, and even Sheriff Daniel could all go to hell. This was my life, and I would live it the way I wanted to—whiskey and all.

As the warmth of the alcohol spread through my body, I felt a sense of release, drowning out my thoughts about my birthday, my family, and the expectations that came with my last name. My eyelids grew heavy, and as sleep crept up on me, I remembered why I always ran to the bottom of a bottle. The oblivion that enveloped me was sweeter than any birthday celebration could ever be.

* * *

The following morning, I was abruptly awakened by a loud pounding on the bedroom door. Opening one eye, I tried to get my bearings in the unfamiliar room. The only scent I could detect was the liquor, which I vaguely recalled retrieving from my dresser drawer. Glancing around, I noticed the bottle had toppled onto the floor. Sunlight poured through the curtains, and a throbbing headache mercilessly assaulted my temples. I had no idea what was happening. As I sat up on the edge of the bed, the banging resumed, this time accompanied by a loud voice.

"Wade! Get your drunk ass up right now and open the damn door!" Grandfather's voice bellowed once more, impatience evident in every syllable.

Groaning at the intrusion, I rubbed my throbbing temples and shuffled towards the door, regretting my overindulgence from the night before. As I turned the doorknob, the cool morning air hit me like a bucket of ice water, making me wince.

"What do you want, Grandpa?" I mumbled, unable to meet his piercing gaze.

His eyes bore into mine, a mix of disappointment and frustration clouding his usually stern expression. "You've outdone yourself this time, Wade. Do you know who I just received a call from this morning?”

I wracked my foggy brain but came up empty. "Uh... The President of the United States?"

Grandfather let out a frustrated sigh. "No, Wade. You idiot. Sheriff Daniel told me he spotted you at the Lennox Inferno. What the hell, Wade? You've been hanging around with those lowlifes again, haven't you? He said you were completely drunk again," he snapped, clearly at the end of his patience.

"What's the big deal, Grandpa?" I tried to keep my voice steady, despite the pounding headache and the rising guilt within me.

Grandfather's brow furrowed deeper. "The big deal, Wade? You are the heir to the family legacy. Your behavior reflects on all of us."

I scoffed, feeling defensive. "I didn't ask to be born into this family. I didn't ask for any of this." The words tumbled out before I could rein them in, fueled by a mix of rebellion and frustration.

His eyes softened momentarily before hardening again. "You may not have asked for it, but this is your reality now. You have responsibilities, young man."

I bristled at being called 'young man,' feeling like a child under his stern gaze. "Responsibilities? Like what, Grandpa? Pretending to be someone I'm not? Following rules set by people who don't even care about me? Moreover, you don't require my assistance. Your preferred grandsons, Preston and Logan, are already managing the company.

His voice lowered, carrying a weight of disappointment that cut through me. "Wade, you carry the name Wainwright. That name means something in this town. It meant something to your father and me. Don't tarnish it with your recklessness and defiance. Indeed, Preston and Logan are working for me, but this is also a part of your legacy.”

I turned away, unable to bear the weight of his expectations any longer. "I'll never live up to your standards, Grandpa. I'm tired of trying." The admission felt like a confession, a release of truths long held inside.

He placed a hand on my shoulder, the touch surprisingly gentle. "You don't have to do this alone, Wade. We can help you. But you need to be willing to help yourself too."

I looked at him then, really looked at him—lines etched with years of wisdom, eyes filled with traces of pain and hope. Maybe there was a chance for redemption, for a different path than the one I had been stumbling down.

"I'll try, Grandpa," I whispered, a flicker of determination igniting within me.

"That's good, Wade, and that's all we ask. I don't want to hear about you being at Lennox Inferno again. Am I clear? The Lennox are thieves and liars, and you know they're our rivals and my sworn enemies."

"Grandfather, with all due respect, I'm friends with Malcolm Lennox. We've been friends since grade school. Just because you and his grandfather have a conflict, what does that have to do with me? Absolutely nothing. I'm 30 years old now, Grandpa, and I know who I should spend my time with. I'm tired of people telling me who I can and can't associate with."

Grandfather's face darkened. "Wade, I've had enough of your insolence! I've been patient with your behavior, but no more! You’ll do as I say as long as you’re my grandson. You are no longer allowed to see that Lennox boy. Do I make myself clear?" His piercing eyes dared me to defy him.

My blood boiled, but I bit my tongue. If I wanted a chance at salvation, I needed to pick my battles. "Fine, Grandpa. I won't see him again," I ground out through gritted teeth.

He stared at me for a moment before he turned around and left the room, slamming the door behind him. I sank onto my bed, feeling a mixture of defiance and despair welling up inside me. My life felt like it was being suffocated by the expectations of others—expectations that I may never be able to meet. 

With a heavy sigh, I knew what I had to do. The moment had arrived for me to finally do whatever I damn well pleased. I recline my head on the pillow and let my thoughts wander. I couldn't care less about anything or anyone. I am Wade Wainwright. I'm my person damn it! The wind rustling the leaves outside my window soothed me, and soon, sleep once again claimed me.

I fell asleep, dreaming of a life far removed from the stifling confines of The Wainwright Manor. Later that day, around 4 pm, there was another knock on my door. This time, I didn’t leap up; I simply stayed in bed.

The knocking persisted, louder this time. "Bloody hell!" I muttered, stumbling out of bed and opening the door. "What now?" I growled, not bothering to hide my irritation.

There stood my father, Clayton Wainwright. "Wade, get up, son. You've been lying in bed all day. Don't you think it's time to get moving?" He had a look of genuine concern on his face.

I grunted, rubbing my sleep-deprived eyes. "No, Dad, I don't. Why should I? My life is already mapped out for me. Why even bother?" I slammed the door in his face and returned to my bed, burying my head under the covers. It wasn't long before the sun had set, and the house was plunged into darkness. I lay there, wide-awake, wondering why everyone couldn't just leave me alone. If I feel like partying, then that's exactly what I'll do.

I stood up and headed to the shower. I stripped off the clothes I had worn the previous night, turned on the shower, and stepped in. The hot water cascaded down my body, washing away the grime and grime—and, I hoped, my worries. I stood there for a long time, staring down at my feet, thinking. After I had emerged from the shower, I dressed in fresh clothes and headed downstairs. Descending the grand staircase, I headed to the table by the door to pick up my car keys. After taking a jacket from the coat closet, I went out to my car. Neither my grandfather nor my father dictates my actions.

I will do what I want. I got into my BMW Z4 convertible and drove off into the night, headed towards Lennox Inferno. My home away from home. The techno bass music pulsated through the walls of the club, announcing to all who dared enter that this was a place where inhibitions were left at the door. I entered the bar and headed directly to the VIP section. I was certain my best friend Malcolm would be there with a few girls.

As I approached the VIP section, I spotted Malcolm surrounded by a group of jovial girls. His infectious laughter cut through the thumping music. He caught sight of me and waved enthusiastically, gesturing for me to join them.

"Hey, Wade! About time you showed up!" Malcolm's grin was wide as he greeted me with a playful punch on the shoulder.

I smirked in response, feeling the weight of the night slowly lift off my shoulders. "Wouldn't miss it for the world, Malc. What's the occasion tonight?"

Malcolm motioned to the group of girls around him. "Just a typical Tuesday night shindig. Thought I'd bring some company to liven things up."

One of the girls giggled and nudged Malcolm. "He's been talking about you all week, Wade. Said you're the life of the party."

I chuckled, feeling a sense of camaraderie wash over me in that moment. "Well, then let's make sure tonight lives up to the hype."

The music throbbed around us as we settled into our usual banter and laughter, drinks flowing freely and inhibitions fading with each passing hour. The night was a blur of dancing, mingling, and carefree revelry as we lost ourselves in the pulsating energy of Lennox Inferno.

As the night drew to a close, Malcolm gave me a hearty pat on the back and smiled. "We've had another unforgettable night, my friend."

I raised my glass in toast, feeling alive and free in that moment. "Here's to living life on our terms, Malc. No regrets."

With a shared laugh and a sense of contentment settling over me, I knew that no matter what awaited me at The Wainwright Manor, I could always find solace and freedom within the walls of Lennox Inferno. Once everyone had left and the club had shut its doors, I found myself slightly tipsy but still clear-headed enough to find my way home. I walked to my car and got inside, noting that tonight I wasn't as intoxicated as the previous night. I started the engine, shifted into gear, and began the drive home.

As I navigated through the darkness, uncertainty filled me—who knew what would happen? Flashing lights. Sirens wailing. My stomach is in knots. The second those cops pulled me over, I knew I was fucked. This time? No smooth talk. No get-outta-jail-free card. I was drunk as hell—again. And my father? He's gonna lose his goddamn mind. But hell, what’s new? I’m just the family fuck-up. I might as well enjoy it.

As the police car pulled up behind me, its lights casting an ominous glow in the night, my heart raced with irritation and apprehension. I rolled down my window as the officer approached, his expression stern but professional.

"Evening, sir. Do you know why I pulled you over?" The officer's voice was firm, cutting through the silence of the night. This officer I didn’t recognize tonight. It wasn’t even Sheriff Daniel, and I was glad.

I glanced at him through the rearview mirror, trying to keep my cool despite the sinking feeling in my gut. "Honestly, officer, I'm not sure. Was I speeding?"

The officer nodded, a hint of skepticism in his gaze. "You were going a bit over the limit back there. License and registration, please."

I fumbled with my wallet to pull out my license and handed it over with the necessary documents. The officer took them and returned to his patrol car, leaving me to stew in a mix of frustration and resignation. After what felt like an eternity, the officer returned to my window, handing back my license and registration with a stern look.

"I'll let you off with a warning this time, but slow it down, alright? Have a safe night."

Relief flooded through me as I nodded gratefully, eager to put this unexpected encounter behind me. "Thank you, officer. I appreciate it."

As the police car pulled away into the night, I let out a shaky breath, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over me. Starting up my car once more, I continued on my journey home, the events of the evening replaying in my mind as I navigated the quiet streets. Arriving at The Wainwright Manor, I parked my car and made my way inside. The familiar surroundings offered a sense of comfort after the whirlwind of emotions from the night.

As I settled into bed, thoughts of Malcolm and the lively atmosphere of Lennox Inferno lingered in my mind, reminding me of the freedom and camaraderie that awaited me beyond the confines of everyday life. With one last sigh, I shut my eyes and let sleep take over, grateful that I had escaped trouble tonight. Even with alcohol on my breath, I was thankful to God that I didn't end up in jail this time.

* * *

I woke up the next morning feeling groggy and guilty about the previous night's events. I made my way to the kitchen to brew a strong cup of coffee, hoping it would help clear my mind.

Just as I was taking my first sip, my father entered the kitchen, his expression a mix of concern and disappointment. "Son, we need to talk," he said sternly.

I braced myself for the lecture I knew was coming. "I know, Dad. I messed up last night. I'm sorry."

He let out a deep sigh before continuing. "Why did I get a call last night saying the local police stopped you? What's going on with you, Wade? Your drinking is spiraling out of control, and I can't keep fixing your mistakes. This isn't the first time, and I'm genuinely concerned about you. You must pull yourself together before you find yourself in real trouble."

I nodded, avoiding eye contact. "I understand, Dad. I'll improve, I swear. The officer released me. But who informed you? He didn't seem to recognize me."

"It doesn't matter who called. What's important is that you're safe, but this stops now, Wade. You owe it to yourself and the legacy of our family." His words hung heavy in the air, a reminder of the expectations I was failing to live up to.

Determined to change my ways, I looked my father in the eye and vowed, "I'll make you proud, Dad. I swear it."

He placed a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm but reassuring. "I hope so, son. I don't want to see you throw your life away. You know your grandfather is just waiting to throw you away, I need you to get your shit together son.”

His words stung, but I knew he was right. My grandfather never thought highly of me, and this would only fuel his fire. I couldn't bear to disappoint my father further, nor did I want to prove my grandfather right. I owed it to myself and my father to change.

"I'll work on it, Dad. I promise." I said, "But can we keep this between us? I don't want Mom to worry."

He paused, then nodded, begrudgingly granting me one final opportunity. "Alright, but this is your last chance, Wade. Mess up again, and you're out, boy. I can't always shield you from your grandfather's anger. He mentioned that he warned you against visiting the Lennox Inferno club. I'm not going to tell you to avoid it, but I will advise you to cut down on the partying you and Malcolm are involved in.”

I gulped at the mention of the Lennox Inferno Club, my second home. I absolutely adore it there, and Malcolm is my closest friend. He has been more supportive than my own family, always standing by me, even when I acted poorly. I should have known my grandfather would lurk there, waiting to pounce on my mistakes.

He'd never miss an opportunity to belittle me in front of others. I knew my limits at the club, or at least I thought I did. The night before had been a blurry haze of whiskey and obligations. I nearly ended up in handcuffs, but I managed to avoid that. Thankfully, when the police stopped me, I was let off with just a warning.

"Yeah... about that," I muttered, trailing off as I met my father's disapproving gaze. "I'll take your advice to heart, Dad. I promise, no more Lennox Inferno club." It was a half-truth at best, but it would have to do for now.

My father skewered me with a penetrating look, clearly dubious of my sincerity. "I hope so," he finally said, turning to leave the room. "You know where to find me if you need help. But your mother doesn't need to know about this."

As he left the kitchen, I leaned back in my seat, gripping my hands in frustration. I knew I was treading on thin ice with my father, and the ice cracked a little more with each transgression. If I didn't get my act together, I'd be swimming in shark-infested waters without a life jacket.

But, as my old man always said, "Boys will be boys." And when on the verge of inheriting a massive fortune, what's a little mischief between friends?

* * *

That evening, I donned black trousers, a silk dress shirt, a blazer, pointed-toe boots, and my black cowboy hat. My hair was tied back in a ponytail. As I made my way down the stairs, the doorbell chimed, announcing Malcolm's arrival. "Just one more party," I promised myself as I opened the door, "and then I'll start acting responsibly."

Malcolm gave me a once-over, a grin spreading across his face. "Damn, Sparky, you clean up real nice. When we were younger, Malcolm started calling me Sparky as a nickname.

I rolled my eyes but couldn't help but smile. Malcolm had a way of lifting my spirits, even when I was at my lowest. "Let's get this over with," I said, steering him towards the door.

The Enchanted Forest Gala was held at the city's most exclusive country club. As we pulled up in the car, I couldn't help but marvel at the elaborate decorations. The place looked straight out of a fairy tale, complete with twinkling lights strung between the trees and life-sized enchanted creatures scattered throughout the grounds. Inside, it was no different. The ballroom had been transformed into a magical forest straight out of A Midsummer Night's Dream. I pasted on my best fake smile as we mingled among the city's elite.

"Here comes trouble," Malcolm muttered in my ear as he nodded discreetly towards an approaching group of socialites. "Stay close, kiddo."

I gulped as the pack surrounded us, their eyes ravenous as they took in my new look. One of them, a blonde ditz named Gretchen, giggled and batted her eyelashes at me. "Well, if it isn't Heir Wainwright in disguise," she purred. "And here I thought you'd ditched us for greener pastures."

"Hello, Gretchen," I said through gritted teeth. "Nice... costume." Her Cinderella get-up was painfully ironic on her plastic Barbie frame. But tonight was not the night to start a war. Not when one wrong move could cost me everything.

"Well, isn't this cozy," a familiar voice drawled from behind me. I turned to find myself face-to-face with none other than Connor Frost, my ex-best friend and current thorn in my side. He arched an eyebrow as he saw me standing next to Gretchen, who happened to be his latest monthly fling. "Fancy meeting you here, Sparky."

"And here I thought I smelled low tide," I retorted, earning a chorus of laughter from the others. Gretchen's expression soured, and I knew I'd just committed social suicide. But at that moment, I didn't care. Connor Frost was dead to me.

"Well, well, well," purred a third voice, dripping with sarcasm. "Looks like we've got a little Romeo and Juliet situation on our hands." The crowd parted, revealing the asshole in a Reaper costume. "Though I always pictured you two with more chemistry," he added with a wink before sauntering off to mingle with another group of guests.

"Ignore him," Malcolm whispered, sensing my rising temper. "He's just trying to get a rise out of you."

I took a deep breath and nodded. Tonight was not about Connor Frost or Gretchen the Plastic Princess. Tonight was about letting loose and having a good time.

"You're right," I said, patting Malcolm on the back. "Lead the way, Fairy God... Brother."

We spent the remainder of the night socializing and having drinks. I visited the bar several times, enjoying my preferred whiskey. Both Malcolm and I drank continuously until midnight. I suspect I consumed more than Malcolm did, but we were both quite intoxicated. After midnight, I finished my final drink and went looking for Malcolm, only to realize he was nowhere to be found. Thankfully, I had driven my car, not him. I headed to the front, where the valet handed me my keys.

As I stepped out of the gala, the refreshing night breeze brushed against my warm skin, prompting me to pause and catch my breath. I struggled to find the right key to unlock my car door. Once it was finally open, I slipped into the driver’s seat, started the engine, and set off towards Wainwright Manor. My car weaved erratically across the road, but with no other vehicles on the highway, it didn't really matter.

Just as I suspected! Once more, I didn't notice the sirens until they were practically on top of me.

"Are you kidding me?"

"Sir, step out of the vehicle with your hands up!" a stern voice called out as the flashing lights of a police car illuminated my surroundings.

I complied, feeling the weight of the night's events crashing down on me. "Officer, I can explain," I began, but he cut me off.

"Save it for later. You're clearly intoxicated, and you were driving recklessly. Have you been drinking tonight?"

I hesitated, knowing that admitting to drinking would only make matters worse. "Just a couple of drinks," I finally admitted.

The officer shook his head disapprovingly. "That's enough to impair your judgment, son. You're lucky you didn't cause an accident." He glanced over to see my car swerving on the deserted road.

As he radioed for backup, I cursed under my breath. This was not how I had envisioned the night ending. Fuck when my father get wind of this, I was done for.

"Sir, I need you to perform a breathalyzer test," the officer instructed, holding out the device.

I reluctantly complied, blowing into the device as instructed. The officer checked the reading and let out a heavy sigh. "Your blood alcohol level is over the legal limit. I'm going to have to place you under arrest for driving under the influence."

Panic surged through me as I realized the gravity of the situation. "Please, officer, is there any way we can work this out without involving the authorities?" I implored, desperation seeping into my voice.

The officer regarded me with a stern expression. "I'm sorry, but the law is clear on this matter. You'll have to come with me."

As he escorted me to the police car, I couldn't help but feel a sense of shame and regret wash over me. How had a night that started with celebration turned into such a disaster?

As we drove towards the police station, my mind raced with potential consequences. Would I lose my license? Would this incident irreparably tarnish my reputation? Upon arrival at the station, I was led into a processing area where my personal belongings were confiscated and I was fingerprinted and photographed. Once inside a holding cell, I sat in silence, contemplating the events that led me to this point. The sound of keys jingling interrupted my thoughts as an officer approached.

"Phone call," he grunted, handing me a phone.

I dialed Malcolm's number, hoping he could help me navigate this mess. After a few rings, he answered groggily. "Hello?"

"Malcolm, it's me. I... I got arrested for driving under the influence," I stammered, embarrassment burning in my chest.

There was a moment of stunned silence on the other end before Malcolm spoke in a hushed tone. "Are you okay? Do you need me to bail you out?"

Tears pooled in my eyes at his concern. "Yes, please," I whispered hoarsely.

"I'll be right there," Malcolm assured me before hanging up.

As I waited for his arrival, I felt grateful for having my best friend in my corner. Again, so I thought. Through the bars, I saw a familiar figure strutting down the corridor, but it wasn't Malcolm. It was my father, Clayton Wainwright, followed by my cousin Logan.

"Son, what in the world were you thinking?" my father's voice boomed as he stood in front of the cell door, his disappointment palpable.

I hung my head in shame, unable to meet his gaze. "I messed up, Dad. I made a stupid decision, and now I have to face the consequences," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

Logan, always the more laid-back one in the family, chimed in with a mixture of concern and frustration. "Seriously, man? You know better than this. We've talked about this before."

"I know, Logan. I know," I muttered, feeling the weight of their disappointment bearing down on me.

My father sighed heavily before speaking again, his tone softening slightly. "We'll get you out of here, but this can't happen again. You need to understand the seriousness of your actions and make better choices moving forward."

I nodded solemnly, acknowledging their words. It was clear that my reckless behavior had not only put me in danger but had also deeply affected those closest to me.

As my father and cousin worked on arranging my release, I reflected on the cold metal bench of the holding cell. The reality of my situation had fully sunk in, and I knew that I needed to make amends for my irresponsible behavior. 

When the officer returned to unlock the cell door, I stood up determined to right my wrongs and earn back the trust I had carelessly shattered. With a heavy heart and a sense of remorse lingering in the air, I followed my father and cousin out of the police station, ready to face the consequences of my actions head-on.