Chapter 2: The Soft Flesh of the Waist

"I’m so, so sorry, Mr. Vance! We didn't know she was yours!"

The other men, seeing it was Alistair, immediately bowed in apology. They grabbed the man still wailing on the floor and scrambled away.

A faint smile flickered deep in Clara’s eyes, but in the next heartbeat, she went limp, leaning weakly to the side.

Alistair caught her. Looking at the woman who was constantly nuzzling against him, he swept her up into his arms.

Someone quick-witted pressed the elevator button for him. Alistair carried Clara to the top floor.

The villa stood eight stories high, with each floor serving a specific purpose—the first being the bar.

However, from the fifth floor up, only Alistair and two others had unrestricted access.

The villa sat within a sprawling estate spanning over five hundred acres, built specifically by Alistair to overlook his private race track.

Beep-beep!

The doors were all equipped with fingerprint locks. Balancing Clara in one arm, Alistair effortlessly opened the suite and stepped inside.

"So hot... it’s so hot..."

At some point, the buttons of Alistair’s shirt had been halfway undone, revealing a large portion of his pale chest.

Slender fingers toyed with the next button. Just as it was about to give way, Clara was tossed onto the bed.

A wave of dizziness hit her, but thankfully, the mattress was soft.

Lying there, Clara cursed him inwardly for actually throwing her like a sack of flour.

Alistair stared down at the flushed, enticing Clara. The faint scent of her perfume seemed to linger at the tip of his nose.

He was surprised that a woman could actually stir such a deep sense of desire within him.

His pale fingers stripped off his black shirt.

Click—

The metallic sound of a belt buckle echoed.

Clara saw his jaw tighten and knew he was angry—very angry.

Tonight was not going to be easy.

Her white fingertips gripped the pristine sheets, her nerves fraying. After all, she had never...

"Clara?"

Her train of thought was shattered. Alistair had pinned her down before she realized it, her name falling coldly from his lips.

He looked down at her flushed face, his fingers sliding from her cheek down to her delicate collarbone.

"My name is Alistair Vance."

In a few swift motions, the white dress fell to the floor.

"A-Alistair..."

A barrage of kisses fell upon her trembling shoulders while one hand kneaded the soft flesh of her waist.

"Alistair Vance."

He was obsessed with hearing her say his full name, his eyes fixed intently on her face.

He didn't miss a single detail, yet he saw nothing in her eyes but the haze of desire.

She truly didn't seem to recognize him.

Alistair closed his eyes, tracing the curve of her collarbone with his lips.

Marks were branded onto her porcelain skin. Her toes curled as soft whimpers escaped her lips.

"Alistair... Alistair Vance..."

Clara endured it weakly, her eyes shimmering with moisture and her gaze turning a hazy red.

"Alistair Vance."

"Alistair..."

She called his name over and over, yet she couldn't suppress the sounds of her rising and falling breath.

He kissed away the tears on her eyelashes. Her slender fingers accidentally brushed against something that caused him to pause, making his grip on her waist tighten even further.

"Is this okay, Clara?"

Clara heard him, yet she didn't.

Her mind was filled with her friend Ciri's warnings that the first time always hurt.

But she... didn't seem to feel the pain.

Through blurred vision, she saw the man's pale fingers tear something open.

Alistair watched her misty eyes as she clung to him helplessly. A strange sense of satisfaction surged in his heart.

Her slender legs were drawn up, her dark hair splayed across the white sheets like spilled ink.

Trace amounts of moisture lingered at the corners of her eyes. In the next second, her entire body tensed as a sharp sensation spread through her.

Alistair looked at the soft flesh of her thigh, giving it a slight squeeze as a trace of white overflowed from between his long fingers.

At three in the morning, Julian and another man walked into the first-floor bar.

"Where’s Alistair?"

Silas Knight, wearing a red, white, and black racing jacket, sat on the sofa checking his phone, though his question was directed at Julian.

"No idea. It’s been over four hours. Maybe he went upstairs to sleep?"

Julian sat on the sofa with a glass in his hand, speaking nonchalantly.

Silas frowned. "Give him a call."

Julian took out his phone and dialed a string of numbers.

In the dark room upstairs, the storm had finally subsided.

A hoarse voice answered, causing Silas to freeze.

"Who’s this?"

The other end went silent for a moment. Julian recalled the voice—it was definitely Alistair.

"Never mind. Go back to whatever you're doing. I won't disturb you."

Realizing exactly what was happening, Julian instinctively tried to hang up.

"Wait for me."

Before he could, Alistair disconnected the call.

Seeing Julian’s shocked expression, Silas asked, "What is it?"

"Nothing... just said for us to wait."

Julian spoke, looking restless.

"Do you have hemorrhoids?"

Silas was already irritable, and Julian was squirming like a worm.

"Listen... if I told you Alistair Vance finally has a woman, would you believe me?"

Julian looked at Silas earnestly.

They stared at each other for three seconds.

"Ha..."

The heavy sarcasm made Julian deflate instantly.

"I knew you wouldn't believe it, but just now..."

He sat on the sofa looking miserable, then took out his phone to search.

What to do if I’m having hallucinations?

What illness causes fantasies about impossible events?

Signs of a delusional episode?

"Look into this person."

A phone was tossed onto him. Julian caught it and looked up in shock at Alistair, who had just walked over and sat down across from them.

His clothes were all on, but the room felt hot—hot enough that most of his shirt buttons were undone, revealing a few suspicious red marks.

"Look at the phone."

Alistair pressed his brows together in dissatisfaction.

"Check someone? Since when do you need us to run a background check?"

Silas handed Alistair a drink. His tone was steady, but his eyes drifted toward Alistair’s chest.

"It’s just..."

Julian muttered, looking down at the phone.

But as he looked, his brows furrowed tightly.

"Wait... why does she look familiar?"

Alistair and Silas both looked over instantly.

"You know her?"

Alistair asked casually, already planning how he would retaliate if Clara had dared to lie to him.

But Julian shook his head.

"I don't know her, but I feel like I've seen her somewhere."

The next second, Julian pulled out his own phone and completely had a meltdown.

"God damn it! My sister was supposed to arrive today, and I was going to the airport to pick her up!"

Alistair arched an eyebrow. Before he could speak, Julian lunged at him.

"Vance! Where did you see her?"

"That’s my sister!!!"

Alistair’s eyelid twitched violently. He looked away, his lips twitching into a stiff, awkward curve.

"Right here at the bar. I had someone take her to rest. I'll send her back to your place tomorrow."