C17 Only to Humiliate Her Even More.

Outside the private suite, Amadea rounded the corner and looked up, her gaze sharpening instantly. She tiptoed to the door and whispered, "Ava, what are you up to?"

A chill voice from behind startled Ava, who spun around, her face flushing with discomfort as she recognized Amadea. "I wasn't... I wasn't watching anything..."

Ava, the designated 'princess' of Room 606, was unexpectedly sidelined. The young patrons had bypassed her services, opting instead for Amadea to personally escort a new cleaner inside.

Feeling slighted, Ava had seized the opportunity when the coast was clear to stealthily crack open the door and spy inside. The sight that greeted her widened her eyes and she silently ridiculed Clarissa for her worthlessness.

Amadea's sneer cut through the silence. "I asked what you're doing, not what you're seeing," she said, exposing Ava's poorly concealed snooping.

"This doesn't concern you. Head down to the first floor and attend to the guests." Ava opened her mouth to protest, but one dismissive glance from Amadea sent her trudging down to the first floor, her indignation simmering. It was unjust; she was the rightful 'princess' of Room 606, yet she was barred from welcoming the elite guests.

Today's visitors were all influential and affluent, each one a young, handsome catch. And yet, Amadea had chosen a worthless cleaner for the task, leaving Ava to deal with the regular clientele on the first floor.

With a frustrated stomp, Ava departed.

Amadea cautiously opened the door a crack, and the scene inside shocked even her, a veteran of the night's darker revelries.

Inside the room, the atmosphere was tense.

"Crawl faster! Are you too slow to want money?" Clarissa gritted her teeth, biting down on her lip to distract from the pain coursing through her body, as she hastened her pace. Her clothes clung to her, drenched in sweat—a stark contrast to her usual dryness, even in the sweltering summer heat.

"Hurry! Crawl over here," Young Master Powell commanded with a chuckle, his entourage of wealthy heirs laughing along. Under Hollis's gaze, Clarissa crawled to the twenty-year-old Young Master Powell, her dignity abandoned in the shadows where his eyes swirled with malice.

Clarissa! His gaze burned with fury, his chest tight with an inexplicable suffocation.

Hollis hadn't considered why the sight of Clarissa, the woman he despised, acting so vilely, so lowly, stirred such anger within him. Nor did he ponder why, despite achieving his goal of humiliation, his heart felt no satisfaction.

"Lift your head, let me have a look," Young Master Powell's voice dripped with arrogance. Clarissa, unflinching, unangered, unbothered, obediently raised her head like a soulless marionette, responding to his every command.

"What the—what is this?" Young Master Powell's friend gasped, staring at Clarissa as if she were a creature from another world. "Young Master, she doesn't even need makeup to look like a clown."

"Young Master Powell, Hollis is right. Fine wine is for the beautiful. What right does such an ugly woman have to drink your wine?" The privileged young men jeered.

Clarissa bowed her head, relieved. Anything but drinking was manageable. Since the death of that naive girl, her life was no longer her own. To survive, she couldn't risk alcohol; her damaged kidneys wouldn't survive it.

"No," the young man above her smirked. "If I say she gets a drink, she gets a drink. I keep my promises." He towered over Clarissa, demanding, "I'm offering you a drink. Why aren't you looking up?"

Clarissa remained still, prompting Young Master Powell to grow impatient. "I said look up! Are you deaf?" he scoffed. "Do you need assistance?"

With great effort, Clarissa lifted her head, only for a torrent of wine to drench her face as Young Master Powell upended his glass. The alcohol stung her eyes and nose, triggering a violent cough and a ghostly pallor.

Young Master Powell set the glass down with a sneer. "But really, you're too repulsive. This is the only way you deserve my wine."

He and his friends shared a mocking laugh before he casually tossed fifty thousand yuan at Clarissa. "Take the money and get out. Another glance at you would be painful."

The money hit Clarissa's face before scattering on the floor. Still on all fours, she reached out with trembling hands, mustering all her strength to clutch the scattered bills.

"Did I tell you to stand up?"

Before Clarissa could react, the young man known as Young Master Powell chuckled again.

She crammed all the bills into the oversized pocket of her clown costume, hung her head, and collapsed to the ground.

"Hey! Don't forget to wag your tail!"

At that command, Clarissa trembled slightly, then...

Methodically, she lifted her right hand, right leg, left hand, left leg, and gave her hips a shake...

Surrounded by jeers and whistles, she made a quiet exit... crawling away on all fours!

Throughout the ordeal, she never once glanced back at the man shrouded in darkness on the sofa.

...

The cacophony of the room was abruptly silenced as the door shut behind her, sealing the noise away. It felt as though something had been stripped from Clarissa in that moment.

What it was, Clarissa couldn't pinpoint. But she sensed a change within herself; she was no longer who she used to be. In truth, she hadn't been for some time, but today had torn away the final veil of pretense.

A hand reached out obliquely: "Let me help you."

Clarissa recoiled as if burned, looked up, and stammered, "Ms. Amadea..." Recognizing the woman before her, she called out, then fell silent. After a pause, she managed a strained smile and said, "I'm okay."

Amadea's breath caught. How could she be okay?

"I'm fine," Clarissa asserted with a quiet strength.

Amadea's breath hitched again. Fine? How could she possibly be fine?

She wanted to scream at Clarissa, to unleash her frustration, but the words were stuck in her throat.

"Ms. Amadea, this money..." Clarissa, propped against the wall, struggled to keep herself upright as she pulled out the tips she had earned from her performance, "Ms. Amadea, could you please deposit this into my bank account?"

Amadea watched as she retrieved the bank card Hollis had given her... What could possibly compel someone to carry this card with them at all times?