Chapter 30: The Marks He Left Behind

When Clara pushed open the front door, her fingers were still trembling slightly.

She looked down at her wrist, tracing the faint red mark—the lingering imprint left by Alistair’s tie.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to steady the waves of emotion crashing inside her, but his final question continued to echo in her mind—

"Clara, what exactly are you so afraid of?"

What was she afraid of?

She was afraid of too much.

Afraid of falling back into an uncontrollable passion, afraid that the chasm between them would eventually destroy everything, and most of all... afraid that she simply couldn't resist him.

"Clara?"

A clear male voice drifted from behind, shattering her thoughts.

Clara snapped back to reality, looking up to meet Julian’s puzzled gaze.

He was wearing a loose hoodie and holding his car keys, clearly preparing to head out.

"What’s wrong?" Julian frowned, his eyes landing on her reddened, puffy eyes. "Who bullied you?"

Clara instinctively turned her face away, wiping the corners of her eyes. "No one. I was just... thinking about things from the past."

"The past?" Julian clearly didn't buy it, his voice laced with concern. "You don't look like you were just 'reminiscing.' Did something happen at the dance troupe? Or is someone picking on you?"

Clara shook her head and forced a small, fragile smile. "Really, it’s nothing. Don't worry. I'm just a bit tired, I'm going upstairs to rest."

Before Julian could press further, she hurried toward the stairs.

She could feel Julian’s eyes following her, but she didn't dare look back, fearing he would see right through her facade.

Julian’s mind raced with possibilities, but not once did he suspect Alistair Vance.

Clara returned to her room and shut the door. All the strength seemed to drain out of her body; she slid down against the wood and sat on the floor.

Meanwhile, Julian pushed open the heavy doors of the bar. The cacophony of music and the roar of the crowd flooded his ears instantly.

He frowned, searching the dim, neon light for familiar faces. Soon, he spotted Silas Knight and Alistair Vance sitting in a corner booth.

Silas was holding a glass, wearing his signature cynical smirk, while Alistair sat beside him with a glass of whiskey. His gaze was lowered, seemingly lost in his own world.

His tie hung loosely around his neck, and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone, giving him an aura that was both languid and dangerous.

Julian walked over and flopped down next to Silas, grabbing a drink from the table and taking a large gulp.

"Well now, Master Julian. Why the long face today?" Silas arched an eyebrow, teasing him. "Who offended you?"

Julian sighed, rubbing his temples. "Don't even get me started. Right before I left, I saw my sister looking completely despondent. Her eyes were all red. I asked what was wrong and she wouldn't say, just claimed she was thinking about the past. I feel like something is wrong, but I can't put my finger on it."

"Your sister?" Silas blinked. "Clara?"

"Yeah." Julian nodded, his voice irritable. "She’s usually so tough. It’s rare to see her like that. I’m worried, but I don't know how to help."

Silas laughed and patted his shoulder. "Girls always have secrets they don't want to share. Don't worry too much; it’s probably just work pressure or a little bump in her love life."

"Love life?" Julian frowned. "She hasn't even been dating. Where would the 'trouble' come from?"

Silas shrugged. "Who knows?"

As they spoke, Alistair suddenly looked up.

His gaze fixed on Julian, a flash of unreadable emotion shimmering in his eyes.

"You said Clara... is very sad?"

Alistair’s voice was low and raspy, carrying a hint of barely detectable tension.

Julian was startled and turned to look at him. "Yeah. Don't let her soft personality fool you; Clara is a resilient girl. I don't know what happened today, but she looked genuinely heartbroken."

Alistair’s fingertips lightly tapped against the rim of his glass. His eyes were so deep they were impossible to read.

He fell silent for a few seconds, then suddenly stood up and grabbed his suit jacket from the back of the chair.

"I have something to take care of. I’m leaving."

Without waiting for a reaction from Silas or Julian, he strode out of the booth.

Watching Alistair’s back, Silas arched an eyebrow, a meaningful smile touching his lips. "Tsk. Interesting."

Julian looked bewildered. "What’s with him?"

Silas laughed and took a sip of his drink. "Who knows? Maybe he just remembered something very important."

Alistair walked out of the bar, the night wind brushing against his face with a cool chill.

He stood by the roadside and dialed a number.

"Find Clara’s current location." His voice was cold and decisive.

The person on the other end responded quickly: "Master Vance, Miss Clara is currently at home. She hasn't gone out."

Alistair hung up and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Images of Clara’s reddened eyes and the faint red mark on her wrist kept flashing through his mind.

He knew those were the marks he had left behind.

He had thought tonight’s meeting would help her understand certain things, but her reaction only left him feeling a surge of irritation.

She was still running, still refusing to face the reality of them.

"Clara, what exactly are you so afraid of?"

He murmured the question softly, as if asking himself, or perhaps asking her.

Clara stood before the bathroom mirror. Water droplets slid from the ends of her hair, dripping onto her collarbone with a slight chill.

She wiped the mist from the mirror, looking at her own slightly flushed cheeks. A faint, unreadable smile touched her lips.

Outside the bathroom, the phone on the bed was vibrating continuously. The buzzing sound drifted through the gap in the door like a persistent demand.

Clara dried herself unhurriedly, wrapped herself in a plush towel, and walked out slowly.

The screen was still flickering, with the name "Alistair Vance" glaring back at her.

She picked up the phone, her finger hovering over the screen, but she didn't answer immediately. Looking at the jumping name, a flash of cunning lit her eyes.

"Persistent, aren't you?" she whispered, her tone playful.

The call ended automatically, but it started ringing again almost instantly.

Only then did Clara unhurriedly press the answer button. She held the phone to her ear, her voice languid and casual. "Hello?"

There was a second of silence on the other end before Alistair’s low, suppressed voice came through: "Why didn't you answer?"

Clara let out a soft laugh and walked to the window, idly toying with the curtain. "Master Vance, calling me this late... is something the matter?"

"Where are you?" Alistair’s voice was tight, as if he were holding back intense emotion.

"At home. Where else would I be?" Clara intentionally dragged out her words, her tone carrying a hint of provocation.

Alistair’s breathing grew audibly heavier. "Clara, don't play these games with me."

"Games?" Clara arched an eyebrow, her tone innocent. "What is Master Vance talking about? I don't understand."

A heavy silence followed, filled only by his ragged breathing.

A moment later, Alistair’s voice rang out again, carrying an undeniable authority: "Open the door."

Clara’s heart skipped a beat. She instinctively looked toward her bedroom door.

She hadn't expected Alistair to come straight to the house.

"Master Vance, it’s so late. Don't you think this is a bit... inappropriate?"