Chapter 12: Clara, Why Don’t We Play Something More Interesting?

Clara looked at the message from Mia on her screen, a meaningful smile curving her lips.

She knew exactly what was happening—Mia was losing her patience and was ready to make a move.

After a brief thought, Clara replied: "Sure, Sister. Send me the address, I'll be there soon."

Not long after, Mia sent the location of a private club.

Clara changed into a simple yet exquisite dress. She pinned her hair up loosely, letting a few stray locks fall against her cheeks to add a touch of effortless elegance.

As Clara stepped into the club, she was met with opulent decor.

Crystal chandeliers cast a brilliant glow across the polished marble floors.

Mia was seated on a sofa in the corner, surrounded by several fashionable socialites. Alistair was among them, leaning back lazily with a glass of red wine, his eyes deep and mysterious.

Seeing Clara enter, a flash of hostility crossed Mia’s eyes, but it was quickly replaced by a warm smile. "Sister, you’re finally here! Come, take a seat."

Clara walked over calmly, greeted everyone politely, and took a seat directly opposite Alistair.

Alistair’s gaze lingered on her for a moment.

In that instant, Clara felt that familiar, predatory stare again.

"Sister, do you know how to play Texas Hold'em?"

Mia picked up a deck of cards, looking at Clara provocatively. Clara offered a slight smile. "I know a little."

The game began. Mia played aggressively, trying to suppress Clara with her momentum.

However, while Clara appeared fragile, her mind was meticulously sharp.

She quietly observed everyone’s expressions and betting habits, making every move with perfect timing.

After a few rounds, Clara gradually gained the upper hand.

Mia’s face turned sour. She hadn't expected the usually obedient Clara to be such a formidable opponent at the card table.

"I didn't expect you to be so skilled, Sister," Mia said with a forced smile.

Clara responded modestly, "Just luck, Sister. Thank you for going easy on me."

At that moment, Alistair, who had been silent, spoke up.

"Clara, why don’t we play something more interesting?"

His voice was low and resonant, carrying a certain magnetic charm.

Alistair stood up and walked over to a nearby pool table. He picked up a cue and lightly tapped a billiard ball. "If I win, you have to dance with me. If you win, I’ll grant you one wish."

Clara’s heart stirred. She knew Alistair was a master at pool, but she refused to back down.

"Fine. Let's try."

Clara stood up, walked to the table, and took the cue Alistair handed her.

Alistair stepped behind Clara, just like last time, guiding her grip and posture hand-on-hand.

Clara’s heart quickened involuntarily. She fought to remain calm, focusing all her energy on the balls.

The match began. Alistair took the first shot; his movements were fluid and elegant as the ball dropped perfectly into the pocket.

Clara took a deep breath, adjusted her mindset, and delivered a beautiful strike of her own.

They went back and forth, the score climbing steadily.

The people around them were drawn in by the intense match, gathering to watch the showdown.

Watching the two of them focused on the game, the fires of jealousy in Mia’s heart burned even hotter.

Just as the match reached its climax, Alistair made a minor error, giving Clara a chance to pull ahead.

Clara seized the moment, sinking ball after ball until she finally won the game.

"I accept my defeat. What do you want me to do?"

Alistair looked at Clara, a hint of a soft smile in his eyes.

Clara thought for a moment. "I haven't decided yet. I'll tell you when I think of something."

Mia snorted from the side. "It was just a stroke of luck."

At that moment, a slow jazz melody began to play throughout the club.

Alistair looked at Clara and held out his hand. "Even though I lost at pool, that shouldn't stop me from asking for a dance, right?"

Clara looked at Alistair’s outstretched hand, hesitated for a second, and then gently placed her hand in his.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mia’s resentful glare, and the smile on her lips widened.

The two stepped onto the dance floor. The surrounding noise faded away, leaving only their heartbeats and the soothing rhythm of the jazz.

Alistair’s hand rested firmly on Clara’s waist with the perfect amount of pressure—gentlemanly, yet carrying an underlying, irresistible strength.

Clara tilted her head slightly, meeting Alistair’s deep gaze. For a moment, she felt dazed, as if the entire world had vanished, leaving only the two of them.

"You're an excellent pool player."

Alistair’s voice echoed in Clara’s ear, his warm breath making her earlobes turn a soft pink.

"You were just letting me win."

Clara’s lips curved upward.

Their footsteps were light and fluid. Every turn and every close encounter made their hearts race uncontrollably.

Alistair’s gaze remained locked on Clara, and she felt as if her heart were being brushed by a feather—tingling and sweet.

When the dance ended, they returned to their seats.

Alistair still carried a faint smile, his eyes full of admiration and tenderness as he looked at Clara.

"Clara, I had a wonderful time with you today," Alistair said softly, his voice tinged with sincerity.

Clara nodded slightly, a lingering blush on her cheeks. "Me too. Today was very special."

Just then, a tall, fashionably dressed socialite walked over. He looked at Alistair with a hint of arrogance and said, "Master Vance, I heard you lost a game of pool to this lady? Why don't we have a round? Let me see if you're really off your game."

Alistair frowned slightly, a flash of displeasure in his eyes, but he responded politely: "I'm not in the mood today. Perhaps another time."

The man was persistent, turning his gaze toward Clara. "Miss, why don't you join in too? Let me see just how good you really are."

Clara knew the man was clearly looking for trouble, but she didn't want to show weakness. She smiled and said, "Sure. Since you're so interested, let's play."

The match began. The man took the first shot; his movements appeared flashy but were full of flaws.

Clara observed silently, her every strike precise and powerful.

Alistair watched her quietly from the side, his eyes filled with trust and support.

After a few rounds, Clara gradually took the lead.

The man’s face grew increasingly grim, and fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead.

Mia watched from the sidelines, her jealousy briefly replaced by a sense of schadenfreude. She sneered, "Some people just have good luck. Let's see if they can stay this smug in a moment."

Unfazed, Clara focused intensely on the table. At the crucial final shot, she took a deep breath and sent the ball into the pocket with perfect accuracy, winning the match.

The man’s face turned ashen. He snorted coldly, "Hmph. Consider yourself lucky today."