C5 He Got into Trouble!

Clarissa was still reeling from the shock, barely having a moment to feel relieved when she suddenly realized she was in the embrace of a stranger. His arms were wrapped intimately around her waist.

"Ahhhh..." Clarissa's panic surged. In all her years, aside from her brother, no man had ever held her so closely... including... him.

Tiernan's expression turned grim. Swiftly, he placed his other hand over Clarissa's mouth. "Shut up! Why the hell are you screaming? You're quite the odd one, aren't you? Any normal person would instinctively scream if they fell, but not you. Silent during the fall, and now you're making a fuss for no reason!"

"You, you, you... Let go first."

Observing her flustered and suspicious demeanor, a lightbulb went off in Tiernan's head. "Hey, are you yelling because I hugged your waist?" He couldn't suppress a twitch of his lips as the woman in his arms turned a shade redder.

"...Looks like I'm right." His eyes gleaming with mischief, Tiernan let out a strange chuckle. "Hey, lady, have you never been held by a man before?"

Amused by her reaction, Tiernan watched as her ears turned a bright red. It was like stumbling upon a new world—finding a woman who blushed merely from a waist hug was both astonishing and entertaining.

It was as if he had discovered a new world, and Tiernan was brimming with excitement.

His hand, still embracing Clarissa's waist, squeezed a little tighter, feeling the fabric bunch under his palm. Something felt off, but he shrugged it off, slipping his fingers under the hem of her clothes. As his hand ventured further, a tremor ran through him.

"What are you doing?"

Clarissa fought to push him away. Tiernan, taken aback, could only stare. "Your waist..." He was at a loss for words. The waist he had just felt, was it really that of an ordinary woman?

Tiernan, self-proclaimed ladies' man, had dated his fair share of women, from international supermodels to starlets. Yet, the waist he had just encountered was slimmer than any he'd known, so slender his hand could almost encircle the majority of it.

"You..." He tried to speak several times, wanting to say, "Is this why you're bundled up in so many clothes on such a hot day?" But the sight of the woman before him, her eyes betraying pain yet feigning indifference, her gaze both accusing and meek, left him speechless.

Years later, Tiernan would still be haunted by the look in Clarissa's eyes at that moment. He couldn't fathom how a single glance could convey such pride and humility, a tumultuous mix of emotions.

What had she endured to harbor such contradictory traits within her?

Clarissa shoved Tiernan aside and bolted. She wasn't fast, and she stumbled after just a few steps, but she didn't care. She picked herself up, leaning against the wall, desperate to put as much distance between herself and Tiernan as possible.

Her thoughts were in chaos, as if her deepest secrets had been laid bare.

Fresh out of prison, all she wanted was a quiet life—a full meal, a place to sleep, self-sufficiency, a little money saved to visit Erhai, to see with her own eyes the clarity and azure she could never witness behind bars.

She could no longer weather any more storms.

Tiernan wanted to help her, but the faster he moved, the more she seemed to panic, clutching the wall, dragging her body in a pitiful state.

Reluctantly, Tiernan slowed his pace.

Room 606

Clarissa knocked and entered.

Immediately, she sensed the peculiar tension in the air. In the dim light, several patrons lounged on sofas, flanked by female models. Only one girl, with an innocent look, stood by the crystal table—a girl Clarissa recognized as Eulalia, the new waitress from her dormitory, a student from S University.

"Sister Clarissa..." Eulalia's voice broke, startling Clarissa, her entire body tensing.

Seven or eight pairs of eyes in the room swiveled towards her. Clarissa steeled herself and said, "I'm the janitor called up from downstairs." Her voice, rougher than she'd have liked, gave her away.

The guests' brows knitted in displeasure.

Having worked at Night Emperor for three months, Clarissa knew to keep her head down and focus on her work. As a janitor, even if people took issue with her voice, they were unlikely to cause her trouble. But Eulalia didn't seem to understand the situation—meddling could be dangerous.

Clarissa kept her gaze low, bypassing Eulalia and heading to the VIP room's en suite washroom. The cleaning supplies were neatly stored in a cabinet, not detracting from the room's aesthetics.

Armed with a mop and bucket, Clarissa returned to her cleaning, ignoring Eulalia's occasional desperate glances.

Three years in prison had taught her to avoid overstepping; to remember her place. Otherwise, with a mere flick of their finger, someone could make her life unbearable.

She wasn't Eulalia. Despite her family's poverty, she had her parents and was still a student at S University. She, Clarissa, was nothing more than a former prisoner, a reformed convict!

She was insignificant, unable to endure the harshness of wind, rain, or the slightest disturbance. She lacked the capacity to aid others.

"You can leave after singing this song," a man told Eulalia.

Clarissa quietly lifted her head to see Eulalia biting her lip, looking as if she had suffered a great indignity. "I won't..."

In her distraction, Clarissa's mop slipped and streaked across Eulalia's shoe. Startled, Eulalia lost her train of thought and turned to Clarissa.

"I'm so sorry, I mopped over your shoes," Clarissa apologized, looking up.

This small, seemingly accidental incident caught the attention of several men in the room.

Clarissa overheard Eulalia's voice, tinged with anger, "I'm not a model, nor a hostess. I won't sing; I'm just a server here to pour tea and water!"

Clarissa regretted her actions so much she wished she could smack herself. Some people you can help, others you can't.

Clarissa didn't know what Eulalia would choose, but if it were her, she wouldn't alienate these affluent young men over a song. In the Night Emperor's VIP room, their status was high; they wouldn't tolerate defiance from a mere waitress.

If Eulalia refused to show these young masters respect, why would they let her off the hook so easily?

What type of woman hadn't these young masters encountered? They saw Eulalia's innocence and beauty and simply asked her to sing, offering her a graceful exit. If Eulalia complied and left, they likely wouldn't trouble her further.

It seemed her attempt to help Eulalia was in vain, drawing unwanted attention from the other patrons.

Clarissa thought to herself, "Finish cleaning and get out of here. The longer you stay, the more unpredictable the outcome. I've already risked enough by standing up for Eulalia; I don't need to provoke these guests further. It's best to leave this room as soon as possible."

"Oh? Feeling high and mighty, are we?" a new, mocking voice chimed in. "Don't want to sing? Fine, just down that bottle of wine on the table, and you're free to go."

"I won't drink! I'm not some bar girl here to keep you company!"

"Ha, you won't drink?" the voice sneered with amusement. "I'm afraid it's not up to you to refuse. Working at the Night Emperor means complying with the guests' requests, whether you're a waitress or a janitor, right?"

Hearing the term 'janitor' from that mocking voice gave Clarissa an ominous feeling. And in the next moment, her premonition proved accurate.

"Hey, you over there, yes, I'm talking to you. Janitor, you agree, don't you?"