C9 ​

"Miss Jenkins, once so proud, now reduced to kissing a servant's hand in public, begging for mercy. Imagine what Ryant, her father, would think if he saw this. Would he even be able to show his face?" Clarissa shuddered, her complexion turning ghostly white. But in a heartbeat, she rallied, her voice tinged with desperation, "There is no Clarissa in the Jenkins family. I am nothing but a prisoner." She recoiled from the once-desired handsome face before her, now as repulsive to her as a viper.

"Mr. Morgan, I'm merely a prisoner. I implore you to show mercy. Please, release me." She swallowed her fear of him, pleading with all the humility she could muster, praying only for peace and survival.

What was dignity worth? Having emerged from that dark abyss into the sunlight, she clung to this hard-won warmth, unwilling to let it go.

A dangerous glint appeared in Hollis's eyes, his gaze dark with rage. How could this groveling woman be the same Clarissa who had once clung to him relentlessly, immune to his coldness, throwing herself at him with fiery passion?

Hollis ground his teeth in inexplicable fury, his icy stare fixed on her lips, still marked by Tiernan's accidental bite.

Then, abruptly...

"Was that your first kiss?"

"...Ah?" Clarissa's heart skipped, her cheeks flushing despite herself.

A silent, seething anger surged within Hollis. His expression grew colder as he yanked Clarissa up and marched her toward the washroom.

"Release me, I beg of you, spare me," Clarissa pleaded, her voice low.

Hollis dragged her along, her movements clumsy, stumbling and nearly falling. He was indifferent to the woman's plight behind him.

In the washroom, Clarissa barely had time to brace herself before she was thrust against the sink, water cascading over her head as Hollis's anger boiled over. Without a word, he scrubbed at her lips until they were raw and swollen, only then releasing her.

Gasping for air, Clarissa clung to the black marble, her coughs echoing in the cold space. A chilling voice demanded from above, "Tell me, how did Tiernan kiss you?"

Clarissa looked up, stunned, unable to form words. Was this his way of humiliating her? She turned away, her silence the loudest protest she could muster.

Hollis was merciless. Did he enjoy degrading her so?

His eyes narrowed, and in a swift motion, he grasped her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.

Then, Hollis's face drew near, their proximity electrifying. Just as their lips were about to meet, he veered toward her ear, his breath warm against her skin. "Hah," he scoffed, his voice dripping with scorn, "You don't actually think I would kiss you, do you?"

Clarissa's world turned icy, her face drained of color.

He regarded her with a cruel smirk, his disdain palpable. "You disgust me."

And with that, Clarissa's world spun, and she collapsed onto the marble floor.

Above her loomed Hollis, the devil incarnate.

She curled up tighter, reminding herself not to provoke this fiend. As long as she didn't anger him, she'd be safe.

She had to survive, to live on.

Clarissa, her head buried in her arms, was oblivious to the storm of emotions in Hollis's eyes.

From his lofty position, Hollis struggled to reconcile the wretched figure before him with the Clarissa of his memories.

His gaze complex, he uttered coldly, "Beg me, and perhaps I'll let you go."

His piercing eyes never left her, filled with an unacknowledged anticipation.

Clarissa's shoulders gave a slight shiver before she let out a self-deprecating chuckle. Dignity? What use was that to her now? She was nothing more than a criminal, identified by the number 926, no longer the Clarissa she once was. Why cling to dignity when survival was at stake?

Before him, Clarissa knelt. "Mr. Morgan, I'm begging you. Just consider me as nothing, a mere nuisance, and let me go."

The man was profoundly shaken. His face turned to ice in an instant, rage simmering beneath the surface. This woman had discarded her dignity so easily! She had sunk so low!

Unable to articulate his inner turmoil, his face ashen, he delivered a furious punch to the mirror opposite him and bellowed, "Get out!"

Clarissa's face lit up with relief, as if she had been granted a reprieve. She struggled to her feet and hobbled out as if escaping for her life.

Behind her, Hollis watched her retreating figure with a cold, piercing gaze. His striking profile was etched with a sheen of frost.

"Damn woman!" he muttered, throwing another punch into the air.

Clarissa was in full flight, her legs' discomfort forgotten in her desperation. The elevator descended, and with a 'ding,' the doors opened to the first underground level.

She didn't return to the clubhouse. As soon as she stepped out of the elevator, she hurried away from the building, her legs barely cooperating.

"Driver, to South Bay District," she called out, flagging down a taxi. Normally, she'd balk at the expense, but today, she bit her lip and forked over the cab fare without a second thought.

Upon arriving home, she immediately retrieved a cheap suitcase from under her bed and frantically packed her few belongings.

She had to get away. He was coming for her. With the hatred he harbored, he would never let her be.

She had to leave now. She had to survive. There was no time to waste on him; there were still so many things she hadn't accomplished.

As the night deepened, a limping silhouette quietly emerged from the low-cost housing in South Bay District.