Chapter 41: Alistair, I Like You

Clara’s heart hammered against her ribs. She felt Alistair’s gaze piercing through her like a sharp blade, cutting straight to the depths of her soul.

Her fingers gripped her wine glass tightly, her knuckles turning white. Her throat felt as if it were blocked by something, making even breathing a difficult task.

"I... I just..."

She tried to explain, but the words seemed to die before they could reach her lips.

Alistair’s eyes remained frigid. He leaned down slightly, closing the distance until his lips were near her ear. His voice was low, carrying a dangerous edge: "You lied to me."

Clara’s body gave a violent shudder. She could feel his presence looming over her, a crushing weight of pressure that left her with nowhere to run.

Her fingers instinctively loosened their grip on the glass. It clinked softly as it settled onto the table.

"I... I just wanted to relax for a bit," she whispered, her voice trembling.

A cold smirk played on Alistair’s lips, his eyes filled with irony. "Relax? With Silas Knight?"

Clara’s heart sank; she knew Alistair had completely misunderstood the situation.

She looked up, desperate to explain, but Alistair had already straightened his posture. He cast her one last freezing glance before turning and walking toward the other side of the villa.

Clara stood frozen, her heart feeling as if it were being squeezed by an invisible hand. Her palms were slick with cold sweat, and her heart rate was so high she could barely catch her breath.

"Clara, what’s wrong?" Julian’s voice came from the side, filled with concern.

Clara snapped back to reality and forced a fragile smile. "Nothing, I just feel a bit dizzy."

Julian frowned and reached out to touch her forehead. "Did you drink too much? Do you want to go rest?"

Clara nodded and whispered, "I’m going to the restroom."

She turned and headed toward the restroom, her steps slightly unsteady. Her mind was a chaotic mess—Alistair’s eyes, his tone, and the sight of his retreating back were like thorns embedded deep in her heart.

The restroom was on the second floor of the villa. Clara pushed the door open and stepped inside. She leaned against the vanity and took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure. Looking into the mirror, she saw a face that was pale and eyes that were frantic—completely unlike her usual self.

"What are you actually afraid of?" she whispered to her reflection, her fingers white as she gripped the edge of the sink.

Suddenly, the door was flung open. Clara spun around to see Alistair standing in the doorway, his eyes dark and deep.

Her heart skipped a beat, and she instinctively took a step back. "You... what are you doing here?"

Alistair didn't answer. He reached back and shut the door, clicking the lock into place. His movements were clean and decisive, carrying an irresistible dominance.

Clara’s pulse quickened further. She felt an invisible pressure radiating from him, boxing her in.

"What... what do you want?" Her voice wavered, her fingers clutching the vanity for support.

Alistair approached her step by step, his gaze locked onto her eyes. His voice was low and dangerous: "What do you think I want?"

Clara trembled. His scent grew closer, carrying an overwhelming weight.

"Alistair, don't be like this..." she pleaded.

A cold laugh escaped him, his eyes mocking. "Don't be like what? Didn't you promise me you'd try to start something? Why the next second do you run off here to drink with Silas?"

Her fingers slipped from the vanity as she leaned back, trying to put space between them.

"I didn't lie to you..." she said through a tremor. "I really just... I just wanted to relax."

"Alistair..." she whispered, her voice a plea.

Alistair’s steps paused, but he didn't look back. His hand was already on the doorknob, looking ready to leave at any moment.

Clara’s heart dropped. She knew that if Alistair walked out now, the thread between them might snap forever.

Gritting her teeth, she lunged forward and grabbed his sleeve.

"Don't go..." her voice shook. "I... I wasn't lying."

Alistair’s body stiffened. He turned back slowly, his gaze icy and profound. "Then tell me, why are you here?"

Clara’s fingers tightened on his sleeve, her voice dropping so low it was almost inaudible. "I just... I wanted to unwind. The pressure lately has been too much. I... I felt like I was breaking."

The ice in Alistair’s eyes shifted, softening slightly. He looked down at her, his voice low and carrying a hint of tenderness. "Then why didn't you tell me?"

Clara’s heart gave a violent jolt. She looked up into his eyes, her voice breaking. "I... I was afraid you'd worry."

Alistair’s gaze fully softened. He reached out to gently caress her cheek, his voice a low, tender rumble. "When you hide things from me like this, I only worry more."

Clara felt the gentle touch of his fingers against her skin, and her eyes welled with moisture. "I'm sorry... I shouldn't have hidden it."

Alistair leaned in close to her ear, his voice soft and warm. "In the future, whatever happens, tell me. Understood?"

"Yes..." she whispered, her voice lost in the sensation of his presence.

A tender smile touched Alistair’s lips. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "Good girl."

Clara felt the gentle press of his lips, a warmth spreading through her. Her eyes grew wetter, and she whispered his name. "Alistair..."

"I'm here," he replied softly.

Clara’s fingers clutched his sleeve tighter, her voice barely a breath: "I... I like you."

Alistair’s eyes widened in shock. He looked down at her, his voice low and breathless. "What did you say?"

Clara felt her cheeks burn a bright crimson. Her fingers tightened on his sleeve as she repeated it, her voice barely audible:

"I... I like you."