Final Book in the Opulence Series!
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❝Forgive me❞
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After Nora left him, Oliver was sad and angry.
Then Charlie came back into his life.
Now he's sad, angry and confused.
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Oliver Scott. A name synonymous with entitlement. The golden child...
I'm sorry for the late update. It's been a weird few weeks. I'm back now and I'm feeling better. Love you all.
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Oliver was sick and tired of waking up sick and tired.
He hated that feeling of barely being able to open his eyes or move, not knowing what time of day it was. Did he sleep through the day?
He slowly dragged his hand into his pocket to look at his phone. No missed calls or messages. He would have expected a call or message from Charlie. Charlie used to ask about him every morning whether it was in person or through text. That stopped after Vegas.
Oliver couldn't stop thinking about what happened in Vegas. He could still feel Charlie's lips trailing like lava all around his body. He wanted that. Just one more night with Charlie.
He never actually took the time to process the events with Charlie, starting with their escapade in Vegas. Oliver wasn't really bothered about what it meant for his sexuality. He never realised he could like boys but he also didn't care that he now did. His parents never really gave a shit about him so they wouldn't care if he had a boyfriend. Would people talk? Probably. But they always talked about him, no matter what he did.
Oliver answered his buzzing phone with a grunt.
"Oliver, I need you to come into the office today."
"Who's this?" He slurred in response.
"... Are you drunk? Seriously? It's six in the morning."
Oliver looked at the caller ID and immediately straightened up and cleared his throat when he realised he was talking to his father.
"No! No, I, uh, just woke up."
"Are you able to come to work? I just need you to review some contracts. But if you're not able to-"
"No! No, I'm good! Just... give me an hour."
Oliver could hear Ed Scott sigh before hanging up without as much as a goodbye. He groaned as he sat up, rolling off the marble floor of the bathroom. He had finished the last of his supply the night before and would be forced to go to work, withdrawn and hungover. The thought of going into work with his headache, dry mouth and clammy body made him even more queasier.
Maybe it wouldn't be that bad. Maybe he would get away with bringing the contracts home to review. It was all going to work out. All he had to do was lift himself up, get dressed and go to the office close by. He would be fine.
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He wasn't fine.
About an hour into working, his symptoms got worse, to the point where it was painful to keep his eyes open.
