Chapter 21: Brother Alistair, It Hurts So Much

The scent of tequila from Alistair’s collar still lingered on Clara’s fingertips, and the railing at her back pressed painfully against her shoulder blades.

She heard Julian’s footsteps cutting through the jazz music of the banquet hall, still calling her name.

"Clara, are you there?"

"I’m coming!"

Her voice as she called back was laced with the perfect amount of panic.

In the brief scuffle, she intentionally let her sapphire pendant get caught in Alistair’s shirt button, letting the snapped platinum chain slide into his pocket.

Alistair’s grip on her wrist suddenly tightened, the scab on his Adam's apple grazing her earlobe. "The little princess needs her claws trimmed."

As the final silver sparks of the fireworks exploded in his eyes, Clara saw her own reflection in that dark abyss—her hair slightly disheveled, her eyes rimmed with a pitiful peach-pink, looking exactly like a lily of the valley drenched by a rainstorm.

She suddenly raised her voice and ground her heel down hard on the man’s custom-made leather shoes.

By the time Alistair let out a muffled grunt and released her, she had already used her pearl clutch to shield her chest, her diamond garter belt briefly visible through the slit in her gauze skirt.

The crystal lights of the banquet hall were blinding.

In the moment she turned, Clara wiped the peach lip glaze from the corner of her mouth, her fingertips brushing against the spot on her neck Alistair had just touched.

The rough sensation of the man's touch remained, like the stinging burn of sand against skin.

"Why are you sweating so much?"

Julian frowned as he draped a shawl over her shoulders, his face full of concern.

Standing behind him was a man in a subtle-patterned suit, his cufflinks two drops of blood-colored amber.

Silas Knight’s gaze swept over the wine stain on her collarbone, and he let out a soft chuckle. "Miss Clara’s pearl necklace... is missing a bead."

Clara pressed against the empty clasp, her lashes trembling like a spider's silk in the wind. "Maybe... maybe I dropped it backstage."

"I have some South Sea pearls at my place."

Silas lowered his voice with a smile. "Consider it a tribute for your performance, for your brother’s sake."

"Oh my!"

Mia appeared out of nowhere. Her pale pink skirt swept over a waiter’s tray, sending champagne splashing onto the hem of Clara’s dress.

Mia gasped as she wiped it with a handkerchief, her nails intentionally snagging the thin gauze. "Clara, why are you dressed so lightly?"

Clara looked at the torn seam of her skirt exposing her garter belt and suddenly stumbled, leaning against the edge of a table.

The crystal lights gathered into a mist of tears in her eyes. "It was my own clumsiness..."

"I'll take you to the dressing room."

Mia hooked her arm through Clara’s affectionately, using a smile to mask the jealous hatred in her eyes.

As they passed through the archway, Clara heard the snickers of the socialites.

In front of the dressing room mirror, 999 white roses were piled high, the ink of Alistair’s handwriting on the ribbon soaked through with red wine.

Mia let out an "Oops" as she knocked over a vase, looking at her with envy. "Brother Alistair has never been this good to me."

"Wear my spare gown for now." Mia opened the wardrobe and pulled out a scarlet dress with a neckline plunging to the waist. "It's the latest from House D."

Clara stared at the hidden pocket visible at the hem and suddenly hugged her shoulders, trembling. "This... isn't this a bit too revealing..."

She retreated toward the window, her hairpin catching on the curtain with the sound of tearing silk.

"Sister?" Clara opened her clutch and handed her the makeup touch-up kit. "You look so pale."

At that moment, a knock sounded at the dressing room door.

Alistair’s lazy voice, mixed with cigar smoke, drifted in: "Need some help? My Little Swan."

Alistair’s voice acted like a trigger, causing Mia to suddenly grab Clara’s hand and press it against the shattered vase shards.

"Brother Alistair!" She flung the door open, throwing herself at him with a sob. "Clara insisted on trying on that red dress you gave me..."

Clara watched the droplets of blood from her palm hit the floor and, for the first time today, offered a truly sincere smile.

She held her injured hand up to the man’s lips, her voice weak. "Brother Alistair, I... I don't know what happened, but... it hurts so much."

Alistair’s grip on her wrist was strong enough to crush bone.

Mia grit her teeth and continued her pitiful act. "Brother Alistair, I—I didn't do it on purpose."

"Clara insisted on wearing the red dress you gave me. I wouldn't let her, so she tried to hit me, and then this happened when I dodged!"

"Brother Alistair..."

Mia reached out to grab his sleeve, only to have her fingertip sliced by his diamond cufflink.

Alistair released Clara’s wrist, the ceramic shards crunching under his trousers as he turned.

He picked up the tag of the scarlet gown. Under the light, the production code after the "D" had been blacked out with a marker.

"The latest model?"

He let out a short laugh. His cigar ash fell—whether intentionally or not—onto the back of Mia’s trembling hand. "Last month’s Paris runway version of this was backless."

Clara let out a timely kitten-like whimper as her blood-stained gauze skirt slid from her shoulder, revealing a large expanse of snowy skin on her back.

"Or would you rather look at the fingerprint results?"

Alistair swept Clara up in a bridal carry. "Or perhaps we should check the transfer to a certain 'House D' sales girl from your account yesterday?"

Mia stumbled, knocking over the vanity, and suddenly pointed at Clara’s pearl necklace with a scream: "Those aren't South Sea pearls! Those are from Brother Alistair’s private safe—"

"I gave them to her." Alistair cut her off, his palm against Clara’s lower back radiating a searing heat. "Is there a problem?"

The girl in his arms suddenly clutched his collar and let out a soft cough, her lashes shimmering with tiny beads of light. "Don't blame Sister. It’s all my fault..."

She buried her face in the man’s chest, but shot Mia a provocative smile that only the two of them could see.

The moment Alistair kicked open the dressing room door, Clara whispered softly against his neck, "Brother Alistair, you can put me down now."

"Discarding me after I’ve served my purpose?" He chuckled, biting her earlobe. "Haven't you thought about how you're going to repay me?"

"If you don't put me down, it won't be good if my brother and the others see us like this."

Clara was full of smiles, her eyes shimmering. "Brother Alistair wouldn't want a rift between you and my brother or Silas because of me, right?"

Alistair watched her with an unreadable expression, a dangerous light flowing in his eyes.

However, after a few seconds, he finally set her down.

"Stand steady. I’m taking you to have that wound bandaged."

Alistair led her to a corner of the banquet hall and ordered someone to bring over medicine and bandages.

Just as Alistair knelt to begin dressing Clara’s wound, Julian appeared in a hurry.

The moment he saw Clara’s injured hand, his face darkened instantly. He stepped forward, his voice trembling slightly with fury: "Clara, what happened to your hand? Who did this?"

Before Clara could speak, Alistair stood up and said, "It was my oversight; I didn't take good enough care of her. It was a bit chaotic in the crowd, and she was accidentally bumped, hitting her hand against the corner of a table."

"Really?"

Julian’s suspicious gaze flickered between the two of them.

"I might not know Alistair, but I certainly know you, Clara."

Silas Knight also walked over from behind, his gaze landing on Clara’s hand, which was wrapped as thick as a zongzi. His brow furrowed slightly.

"Weren't you going to change clothes with Mia? How did your hand get injured?"