C1 Send Her to Prison!

"It wasn't me, you have to believe me," Clarissa insisted, her gaze fixed on the person inside the car. The downpour blurred the windows, but through the streaked glass, the stern face within was barely visible. Shivering, Clarissa stood outside, her voice piercing through the barrier of the window, "Hollis! At least hear me out!"

The car door swung open abruptly. Before Clarissa could feel a flicker of relief, she was yanked inside with such force that she tumbled onto him, soaking his crisp white shirt in an instant.

"Hollis, those thugs who hurt Faelyn... I didn't send them," she began, but was cut off as a strong hand mercilessly clamped onto her chin, his signature deep, magnetic voice resonating above her, "Do you really like me that much?"

His voice, cool and tinged with a hint of tobacco, was unmistakably his.

"What?" Clarissa was taken aback. Her affection for him was no secret to the world, so why this sudden question?

With one hand still on her chin, he reached out with the other, his fingertips tenderly brushing her rain-drenched cheek. Clarissa found herself drowning in his gentle gaze, utterly lost, almost hearing him ask, "Are you cold?"

But then, his demeanor shifted, radiating a chilling coldness. "Clarissa, do you like me so much that you'd go as far as to harm Faelyn?"

A shiver ran from the core of her being to her extremities. Clarissa snapped back to reality, a bitter smile on her lips... She had been foolish to think his kindness was meant for her. It was nothing more than a devil's smirk.

"I never meant to harm Faelyn..." she tried to explain.

"Of course, you didn't mean to harm Faelyn. You just paid off some thugs to violate her," he retorted, his eyes flashing with anger. Without giving her a chance to defend herself, he ripped her clothes with a swift tear.

"Ah!" Clarissa screamed as she was ruthlessly pushed out of the car, landing in a heap in the rain. His icy voice cut through the sound of the downpour, "Clarissa, Miss Jenkins, you'll experience exactly what you inflicted on Faelyn. How does it feel to be naked?"

In a swift motion, Clarissa looked up in disbelief at the man seated in the car, who now glanced down at her before taking out a handkerchief to leisurely clean his fingers. "Miss Jenkins, I'm quite tired. You may leave now."

"Hollis! You have to listen to me! I really..."

"If I must listen to Miss Jenkins, it's not out of the question," he said indifferently, his gaze sweeping over her. "Should Miss Jenkins choose to kneel outside Morgan Manor for the night, perhaps I'll be inclined to spare her ten minutes of my time."

The car door slammed shut, and a handkerchief fluttered out, landing wetly in front of Clarissa as it soaked up the rain.

Bending down, Clarissa picked up the handkerchief, clutching it tightly in her fist. The car disappeared into Morgan Manor, and the iron gates closed unyieldingly before her.

Pale and drenched, Clarissa stood motionless in the rain before finally striding to the gates of Morgan Manor. With a resolute expression, she pressed her lips together and dropped to her knees with a thud.

She knelt not out of guilt, but because Faelyn was her friend. She knelt in mourning, not because the world believed she was responsible for Faelyn's demise.

She knelt, pleading for a mere ten minutes to clear her name.

Her clothes, now ragged and torn, barely concealed her, but she held herself with dignity. Her hands covered her form, yet her posture remained defiant. She was Clarissa of Oakhill, proud even on her knees, her spirit unbroken.

She knelt stubbornly, seeking only a chance to set the record straight. She refused to admit to crimes she hadn't committed.

But was there really a chance for her to explain? Could she truly clear her name? And did anyone even believe her words?

The relentless rain poured down, never ceasing.

...

As dawn broke, Clarissa was still kneeling outside Morgan Manor, soaked through her tattered dress.

With the arrival of the morning, life stirred within the silent manor. The elderly butler, his silver hair shining, emerged under the protection of an old-fashioned black umbrella.

The rusted gates creaked open, revealing a gap. Clarissa lifted her head, offering a wan smile to the butler standing between the gates.

"Miss Jenkins, Mr. Morgan requests that you leave," the butler announced, his hair impeccably combed, his appearance as meticulously maintained as the manor's grounds. He tossed a set of clothes to Clarissa.

Numb from the night's chill, Clarissa shakily donned the garment. Her lips, devoid of color, parted to release a hoarse yet determined voice, "I need to see him."

The old butler didn't even glance up as he relayed the estate owner's exact words: "Mr. Morgan says Miss Jenkins' presence has tainted the atmosphere of the manor. He would prefer it if you didn't trouble his sight, Miss Jenkins."

Since the incident, Clarissa hadn't shown a trace of frailty, but now her feigned strength was failing her. Her shoulders shook, betraying her wounded spirit.

With her eyes closed, rain streamed down Clarissa's face, blurring the lines between raindrops and tears. The butler watched her, his face a mask of indifference. Opening her eyes, Clarissa looked up at him and said, "Butler Chavez, regardless of what you believe, I didn't pay off those thugs to ruin Faelyn's reputation. I can't just accept your animosity without a word of protest."

Exhausted, Clarissa spoke each word with deliberate clarity, her enunciation sharp. Here was a woman who might bend but was filled with an unyielding pride.

At last, the butler showed something other than apathy. His gray brows knitted together in a look of loathing as he regarded Clarissa. "Faelyn was my daughter, always so well-behaved and sensible. She never set foot in the sordid chaos of bars and nightclubs. Yet, it was in such a place, overrun by the dregs of society, that she was violated and met her tragic end."

"Miss Jenkins, we've checked her communications. Before the incident, she called you and sent a text message. It read: 'I'm at Dusk. Where are you, Clarissa?'"

The butler's gaze bore into Clarissa, filled with venom. "Miss Jenkins, you didn't just kill some animals; you took a human life! And now, even in death, you offer excuses! Everyone knows you've been infatuated with Mr. Morgan, but his heart belonged to my daughter, Faelyn. You were consumed with jealousy, and when Mr. Morgan rejected you, you sought to destroy Faelyn's purity. Your malevolence, Miss Jenkins, is beyond reproach!"

Clarissa was left without a retort. Faelyn was Butler Chavez's daughter, Hollis's beloved, and Clarissa was just the unrequited love interest. With Faelyn gone, Clarissa was not only the secondary character but now the villain.

"Miss Jenkins, I must ask you to leave," the butler stated. "One more thing, Mr. Morgan has a message for you."

Clarissa's attention snapped to the butler.

"Mr. Morgan asked, 'Why wasn't it you who died?'"

Overwhelmed, Clarissa's kneeling form began to tremble, a sharp pain piercing her chest.

The butler turned away, his lips curling into a cold, cruel sneer. Clarissa's actions had cost Faelyn her life, and he was far from pleased. He despised her cruelty.

Clarissa, chilled to the bone, forced herself to stand, only to collapse back onto the unforgiving asphalt, laughing bitterly at herself. Why wasn't it you who died?

It sounded exactly like something he would say. Clarissa's smile was more grotesque than tears. "Oh, Faelyn, your death has made me a pariah."

Upstairs at Morgan Manor, a man with a statuesque physique stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows, his black robe loosely draped over his frame, barefoot and imposing. He coldly observed the solitary figure in the rain.

"Mr. Morgan, I've delivered your message to Miss Jenkins without omission," the butler reported after sending Clarissa away, now standing quietly at the threshold of the master bedroom.

Hollis swirled his wine glass, withdrawing his gaze from Clarissa at the butler's words, and issued his commands with icy detachment, "Notify the Jenkins family that they can have either their name or Clarissa, not both. If they choose their name, Clarissa is to be disowned."

"Yes, sir."

"Also, inform S University that they have no record of Clarissa. Notify First High School that Clarissa was expelled for promiscuity and fighting. Her highest level of education is middle school."

"Yes, sir."

"One last thing," Hollis stated coolly, "send her to prison."

The butler looked up sharply, surprised. "Mr. Morgan?"

"Murder demands a life, bribery, and premeditated harm. Three years in prison will be her sentence. Or do you, Butler Chavez, disagree with my judgment?" Hollis had decided on the term, his anger overriding the lack of sufficient evidence.

"No, Mr. Morgan, you are correct," the butler managed through his tears, breaking down. "Without you, Clarissa would never have faced consequences for her actions against Faelyn. As a Jenkins, I was powerless against her. Thank you, Mr. Morgan, thank you."

Hollis pivoted and positioned himself before the expansive window, his gaze tracking the retreating silhouette until it vanished around the corner of the tarred road below. A shadow of gloom settled in his eyes as his long fingers tightened around the glass, tilting it back to let the crimson liquid slide down his throat without spilling a drop.

"Butler Chavez," Hollis began measuredly, "my decision to discipline Clarissa wasn't because Faelyn is your daughter. It's because she's a woman I find myself drawn to."

...

Weary to the bone, Clarissa made her way back to the Jenkins estate. She was gently 'asked' to leave by the old butler who had devoted his life to serving the family. Throughout the ordeal, she never once caught a glimpse of her birth parents.

Was she truly that intimidated by Hollis? A wry smile flickered across Clarissa's lips as she withdrew her gaze. The wrought-iron gate before her marked a definitive boundary between her and the Jenkins lineage, severing ties with all that she had once claimed as hers.

At that moment, Clarissa couldn't quite articulate her emotions. As she turned, two uniformed officers stepped into her path. "Miss Jenkins, considering you've been accused of bribing someone to tarnish Miss Faelyn's reputation, leading to her untimely death, we must ask you to accompany us."

Before being taken to jail, Clarissa's eyes met with Hollis', the man standing tall by the window.

"I never harmed Faelyn," she stated with unwavering conviction.

Hollis approached Clarissa with an unhurried stride. She steeled herself against fear, clinging to her innocence, reminding herself she had committed no crime.

Her delicate face lifted, a portrait of defiance as she fought to maintain composure, but her quivering shoulders revealed the anxiety she tried to hide—a detail not missed by the keen eyes observing her.

A flicker of astonishment crossed Hollis' expression. Was she still fighting to preserve her dignity, even now?

Indeed, she was Clarissa—ever bold and unapologetically proud. Not even his rejection had dented her spirit.

In a swift motion, Hollis seized her chin with an unyielding grip.

"Ugh—painful!" Clarissa cried out as the vice-like hand on her chin tightened, the pressure mounting as if to shatter the bone. Tears spilled from her eyes, yet there was no trace of pity from him as he held on more firmly. "Who would have guessed that beneath such a lovely visage lay a heart so spiteful?"

"I truly didn't harm Faelyn!" Clarissa protested through clenched teeth, her face blanching with pain. "You can't just throw me in jail without any proof."

"Oh, but I can," Hollis retorted coldly, his voice dripping with ruthless intent.