C6 Didn't He Say Goodbye after a Long Time?

The flames were indeed heading her way! Clarissa regretted ever getting involved and trying to help Eulalia.

She was consumed by remorse.

"Hey, I'm talking to you, cleaning lady."

With no other choice, Clarissa reluctantly nodded.

The voice, dripping with sarcasm, chuckled with delight at Eulalia, "Hear that? Even the cleaner has more sense than you, knows how to read the room and show gratitude." Snatching up the wine bottle, he slammed it down on the table, "Finish it. Or I'll call Amadea over."

The mention of Ms. Amadea struck fear into Eulalia. Her family was poor, and she had taken the job at Night Emperor for the good pay. If Amadea showed up, she'd lose her job.

"Don't call Ms. Amadea!" Eulalia pleaded, seizing the wine bottle from the crystal table. "I'll drink!" But before the bottle touched her lips, tears streamed down her face.

"Hold on." From the shadows, a deep voice emerged, unhurried and calm. Clarissa, back to the dark corner, shivered uncontrollably at the sound.

Panic filled her eyes, her breaths growing labored.

"Turn around," the voice commanded from the darkness.

Clarissa's legs were heavy as lead, rooted to the spot. She told herself desperately, "He's not talking to me."

"Again, turn around, cleaning, lady," the voice insisted.

A jolt of fear struck Clarissa's heart. She knew she had no choice but to comply. Trembling, she turned around, her teeth chattering as she faced the room in her bulky uniform.

The mood had shifted; everyone sensed that something was amiss.

The flippant young master, finger to his lips, whistled with glee, "Now this is going to be entertaining."

From the sofa, a man barked, "Shaul, zip it. Don't ruin the show for me."

"Damn, Wensel, you're rotten to the core."

Clarissa was overwhelmed with terror, desperate to escape!

Three years in prison, one thousand and ninety-five endless days and nights, had been a living hell. Now free, she couldn't afford the luxury of any thoughts about Hollis. All that was left was a deep-seated fear of the man.

Any remnants of love or infatuation for him were buried deep within her, never to see the light of day again.

"Lift your head," the voice commanded, more gently this time. Clarissa responded to each command as if on autopilot.

The dim lighting obscured the man in the corner, whom she hadn't dared to scrutinize upon entering. No wonder she hadn't recognized him.

Hollis sat with the poise of an emperor, elegantly perched in the corner of the sofa, his long arms resting on the armrest, chin propped on his hand. He was the epitome of grace and gentlemanliness, yet his eyes, framed by gold-rimmed glasses, were predatory, ready to pounce.

Time hadn't aged him; instead, it had honed his presence, making him even more striking.

His face, bathed in the soft glow of the lights, seemed to be gilded, exuding an irresistible allure as he sat there.

But Clarissa dared not look at him for more than a moment. She quickly buried her head into the thick fabric of her uniform.

Hollis let out a scoff, his laugh cold, his voice tinged with danger, "It's been a while. Aren't you going to say hello?"

Clarissa was ashen. "Mr. Morgan," she managed to say.

She fought to keep her fear at bay, pinching her thigh hard beneath her uniform, striving to appear composed.

But the man on the sofa saw right through her.

Hollis narrowed his eyes, taking in Clarissa's appearance... If it hadn't been for the chance encounter at Night Emperor, he might have forgotten her entirely.

She had changed so much. If not for the waiter's offhand mention of "Sister Clarissa," he might not have recognized her.

The room's dim lights allowed only a vague impression, but even so, Hollis had to admit that Clarissa's transformation was unexpected.

"When did you get out?" he asked nonchalantly.

Clarissa panicked, her face drained of color. She looked up suddenly, her eyes pleading with the man across from her... Please, don't mention my time in prison, not here, not in front of all these people... Her eyes were begging.

Hollis raised an eyebrow, unexpectedly pointing at the bottle in Eulalia's hand. He smirked at Clarissa, "I know what you're asking. Fine. If you can finish this bottle of vodka, I'll grant your request."

Clarissa, pale as a ghost, stared at the bottle of Boshi vodka in Eulalia's hand. Known worldwide, the vodka was about 40% alcohol by volume. She opened her mouth, as if to speak, but no words came out.

The man on the sofa, like a hunter toying with his prey, watched Clarissa with a taunting glint in his dark eyes. "I'm running out of patience."

Hearing that familiar voice, Clarissa's complexion grew even whiter.

"I... I don't drink alcohol."

No sooner had the lie left her lips than Clarissa felt a tingling sensation on her scalp, as if that piercing gaze was about to scorch her. In a corner hidden from his view, her hand clenched into a fist. She felt like a death row inmate awaiting the final sentence.

"Mr. Morgan, please, have mercy on me." In the interest of survival, Clarissa was willing to cast aside her pride and grovel for mercy. "I'm begging you, let me off just this once. I'll do anything, just don't make me drink." She was desperate to live; only by staying alive could she hope to settle her debts.

Indeed, she was burdened with a massive debt, but Faelyn was certainly not the creditor.

A fleeting look of surprise crossed Hollis's face in the dim light before he spoke without a trace of emotion. "Just for a bottle of wine, you're willing to kneel so easily? Clarissa, where's that fiery spirit and pride you used to wear so boldly? What happened to the dignity you defended so fiercely?"

Dignity?

A bitter, mocking smile crept onto Clarissa's face, which was practically pressed into the ground.

What good was dignity? Could it feed her? Could it keep her alive?

Her kneeling was not about evading a bottle of wine; it was about survival!

With a heavy heart, she closed her eyes, and immediately, she was confronted with a parade of scornful faces. Only one person was the exception, and that girl—because of her, because of Clarissa—had perished in the dank, shadowy confines of a prison.

A vibrant life at the tender age of twenty, snuffed out in that grim, damp place.

It was all her fault, all because of Clarissa!

This was a sin, a debt, an irredeemable sin and debt!

She didn't owe Faelyn; she owed the courageous girl who had stood up for her in that prison, only to meet an inexplicable death within its walls.

Clarissa trembled uncontrollably, haunted by the vision of the girl, bloodied and dying in her arms, calling out "Sister Clarissa." With her last breath, the girl spoke of her hometown and her dreams in the sweetest voice Clarissa had ever heard.