C15 A Play.

Clarissa had been reassigned to the Public Relations Department for three days now, and she hadn't made a dime. Glancing at the clock, it read 23:07—the time when the night was just heating up.

The Public Relations Department at Night Emperor was eerily quiet, with only Clarissa remaining in the lounge. Her colleagues had all departed on assignments. Truth be told, the staff at Night Emperor's PR Department were high earners; their clientele was anything but ordinary, and the wealthy elite were known for their lavish generosity.

Though Clarissa was a newcomer, having only joined three days prior, she was already privy to the gossip. Hannah had been boasting just yesterday about a Hong Kong businessman who had tipped her a whopping fifty thousand dollars.

With ten times fifty thousand, she'd have half a million; a hundred times that, and she'd reach five million... That was the sum she needed to meet that man's demands and finally gain her freedom.

Shaking her head, Clarissa dismissed the thought. She wasn't Hannah. Hollis had told her, "You can sell your ugliness or your stupidity." But she didn't even have the chance to do that.

"Clarissa, come with me." The door swung open, and Clarissa turned to see Amadea entering.

"Ms. Amadea," she said, quickly getting to her feet and following without hesitation.

"Aren't you curious where I'm taking you?" Amadea asked, eyebrow arched. "You're just going to follow me without asking? What if I were to sell you?"

Clarissa offered a wry smile. "Ms. Amadea, I'm not worth much."

Amadea's heart clenched at Clarissa's self-deprecating humor, but she quickly composed herself and ushered Clarissa into a dressing room.

Handing her a costume, Amadea urged, "Get changed quickly."

Clarissa hesitated, feeling the weight of the garment in her hands. "Ms. Amadea, this..."

With a sympathetic look, Amadea reassured her, "Ah, just put it on. It's Mr. Morgan's orders." She gestured to the outfit. "This was sent over by Mr. Morgan himself."

Amadea was concerned Clarissa might resist, and she braced herself for a persuasive argument, but Clarissa simply bowed her head and silently changed into the costume.

Once dressed as a clown, Amadea summoned a makeup artist to complete the transformation. Clarissa sat still as her face was painted into a caricature of exaggerated joy—a red nose, a wide, red grin, her original features lost beneath the makeup.

With mixed emotions, Amadea led Clarissa to the sixth floor. "Here we go, into the lion's den. This private room is filled with young masters from the capital, bored with their usual diversions and eager to see a clown perform." Realizing she'd said too much, Amadea quickly added, "Clarissa..."

But Clarissa cut her off, "Ms. Amadea, I still need to save up that five million. Thank you for this opportunity."

Stopping at the door of the private room, Amadea knocked and pushed Clarissa inside, her expression shifting to a professional smile. "Mr. Morgan, the clown has arrived."

Clarissa's head snapped up in surprise. Hollis was here? She had expected only a group of capital's young masters!

Hollis was watching! He had planned this—to see her humiliated, to see her make a fool of herself, to see her suffer!

"Clown, clown, come on, give us a smile," taunted a big boy lounging on a diamond-studded black sofa, dressed in a hip-hop style with a flashy silver chain around his neck.

The boy, barely in his twenties with flaxen hair, exuded youthful arrogance. He leaned forward eagerly as Clarissa entered, his chain swinging. "Come on, clown, smile for me. That's it, nice and pretty. You'll get a reward," he said, tossing a thick wad of cash at Clarissa's feet, the insult unmistakable.

Clarissa's eyelashes fluttered imperceptibly before she threw her head back and laughed, her clown makeup amplifying the sycophantic gesture.

"No, no, no, that's not good enough. Give us another," the boy commanded, wagging his finger. "Want the cash? Laugh harder."

Clarissa bowed her head, the pink notes blurring her vision. Every nuance was observed by Hollis, a shadow of darkness crossing his gaze.

Lifting her head once more, Clarissa's eyes twinkled, her smile growing wider, revealing a row of pearly whites against the painted red of a clown's exaggerated lips, making her grin all the more ludicrous.

"Hahaha... This is hilarious!" the boy roared with laughter, beckoning his companions to join in. "Hey, look at her! Doesn't she look like an idiot?"

The thick clown makeup hid Clarissa's rigid smile as jeers and applause filled the room. The young masters laughed and clapped, egging each other on, "This is gold! Hey, the money's all yours."

In that moment, Clarissa was torn between joy and sorrow.

"Pick it up? It's yours for the taking. Don't you want it?"

"I do..." she admitted, her voice tinged with embarrassment.

"Well, if you want it, squat down and pick it up. Once you do, it's all yours," the boy said, arching an eyebrow, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Hollis lurked in the shadows, his gaze darker than the night itself, watching everything with a detached air.

Clarissa cast her eyes downward. Beneath the thick layers of clown makeup, her face was ghostly white. But what did that matter? In the dim light, she scoffed at herself... Money, such a precious commodity. It could buy her freedom, couldn't it?

Three years ago, he had her thrown in jail, stripping her of her freedom.

Three years on, having been released, he now dangled a five-million-dollar chain over her liberty... No, she had made a promise to that naive girl, and she was determined to keep it!

Clarissa crouched down, scooping up a stack of bills from the ground. As she was about to rise, the boy's mocking laughter rained down from above, "Fond of money, are you? I lack for nothing, least of all cash. You've amused me today, so I've got plenty of money to reward you with."

As he spoke, a shower of bills cascaded from the sky. Wads of cash fluttered down, and Clarissa watched in stunned silence as the boy grabbed handfuls of bills, tossing them into the air with abandon.

What was this all about?

"Do you like it? It's a gift for your amusement," the carefree young man declared. "Don't bother standing up. I'll give you a minute to gather what you can from the ground. If you're able, scoop up every last bill, and I'll throw in an extra fifty thousand."

Hidden from view, Clarissa's hands trembled... not from excitement, but from a deep, soul-wrenching pain.

What was she to do?

Pick them up, or not?

She had always heard how lucky it was to find money... So why did her heart ache with such a heavy, suffocating pain?