Cavin's pov
I found Natalie slumped over the bar, a half-empty glass dangling from her fingers. She was a mess, hair tangled and eyes glassy, the exact opposite of the composed woman I was used to seeing. She turned toward me as I approached, her lips twisting into a wobbly, sad smile.
"There's my fiancé," she slurred, raising her glass as if in a toast. "Late, as usual."
I stifled a sigh and moved to take the glass from her hand. "Natalie, come on. This isn't the place for you right now. Let's get you home."
She clung to my arm, her grip surprisingly strong. "Oh, so now you care? I've been waiting all night, Cavin. Waiting for you."
I ignored her remark, more focused on getting her on her feet. Her head lolled as she leaned heavily into me, her body limp from the alcohol. "Alright, Nat. Let's get you to bed."