Chapter98 – Ugh, disgusting
Ophelia gave her a gentle nudge. Clarissa stepped forward, her expression smooth and serene. “Congratulations,” she said with a graceful smile.
Lyra’s smile faltered. Her entire posture shrank inward. “Sister… I’m really glad you came,” she said, her voice small, almost trembling.
Clarissa nodded. “I wish you and Dorian a happy marriage—and a baby soon.”
Dorian’s eyes met hers. For a second, he couldn’t breathe.
God. Clarissa was… stunning.
It wasn’t just the dress, though the gown clung to her figure like moonlight and magic. It wasn’t just her face, though the delicate sweep of her lashes and the gentle curve of her red lips made her look like a woman painted by an old master.
It was the calm in her eyes. The peace. The radiant stillness of a woman who had truly moved on.
Purple suited her. No—beauty suited her. Lavish dresses and diamonds existed for women like Clarissa. To amplify them. To fall silent in their presence.
And just like that, Dorian realized it. She was no longer his. She was never going to be his again.
The realization left a bitter taste in his mouth. He nodded politely. “Thank you.”
Clarissa gave a polite smile in return and turned away.
She picked up a delicate champagne flute and let the cool stem settle in her hand, ready to slip back into the crowd. But before she could take a sip, she sensed someone behind her.
She turned—and there he was. Dorian.
He hadn’t just stopped by to grab a drink. He was standing in front of her. “Clarissa,” he said.
She arched an elegant brow. “Shouldn’t you be with your wife?”
“Lyra’s a little tired,” he said casually. “I told her to rest in one of the rooms upstairs.”
Clarissa stared at him. “And that’s your cue to come over and chat with your ex?”
His jaw tightened. “I just wanted to talk.”
But the truth was messier. He didn’t know why he’d walked over. All he knew was that watching her walk away had stirred something sharp and sour inside him.
He wanted to see if her mask would slip when they were alone. If she still felt anything when she looked at him.
“How have you been?” he asked, trying to sound offhand.
Clarissa gave him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Wonderful, actually. Life is calm. Work is thriving. And I get to sleep through the night.”
Before he could respond, Clarissa gently set her glass down.
“It’s getting stuffy in here. I think I’ll get some air.”
She walked away, cool and composed, the scent of her perfume lingering faintly behind.
Dorian watched her go, something hot and bitter burning in his chest.
Clarissa made her way to the quiet pond tucked away in the Harrington family’s sprawling garden. Only then did she finally exhale, releasing the tension that had coiled in her chest under Dorian’s searing gaze.
What the hell was that look?
She frowned to herself. There was something disturbingly possessive about it—hungry, even. But why now?
Clarissa thought it through, and came to a conclusion. What you can’t have is always the most desirable.
Men could be bitches like that. The moment you stopped wanting them, they wanted you back—if only to prove they could still have you.
A shiver ran down her spine, and she rubbed at her arms, goosebumps rising along her skin.
“Ugh,” she muttered. “Disgusting.”
She took a deep breath and glanced up at the darkening sky. It was about time to leave.
But just as she turned to go, a shadow lunged from her left—rough, sudden.
Before she could scream, a hand slammed into her back and shoved.
She hit the pond with a violent splash, water crashing over her in icy waves.
The cold shocked her lungs. Her heavy gown—dripping in beading and diamonds—dragged her down like chains. Her heels twisted beneath her, and a sharp pain shot up her leg as it cramped.
She sank fast. Water filled her mouth. Panic clawed at her throat.
In the garden above, shouts broke out.
“Oh my God! Someone fell in!”
“Who was it?”
“It’s Clarissa! Clarissa from the Lancaster family!”
Before the security guards could react, three figures plunged into the water—faster than anyone else.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
“Wait… is that—Lawrence Whitmore?”
“And William Quinn?”
“Oh my God. Is that Dorian?! He just got married! What the hell is going on?!”
All eyes locked onto the pond, watching the three men search the dark waters.
William emerged first, Clarissa limp and soaked in his arms. Lawrence followed, holding her shawl. Dorian came last, empty-handed.
“Clarissa!” William’s voice was tight with panic.
Dorian pushed forward, gaze fixed on her pale face. “What are you all waiting for?!” he barked at the staff. “Get the family doctor now!”
The butler ran to make the call.
“She’s not breathing properly,” Lawrence said, his voice strained but focused. “Lay her down. I’m trained in emergency response.”
William hesitated, then gently laid Clarissa on the grass and backed away. Lawrence covered her with the shawl and knelt over her.
His hands were quick, steady. One, two, three presses to her chest. Then his mouth sealed over hers, breath flowing into her lungs. Again.
Then—Water poured from her lips as she gasped for air.
She blinked hard. Her lashes wet, vision blurry. And then… her eyes met his.
Lawrence—without his signature glasses. It was the first time she’d seen him like this. And it stopped her heart all over again.
His eyes were sharp, slightly upturned at the corners, glinting like a secret. Fox eyes—but softer, richer. Dangerous.
He wore glasses to tame the effect, she realized. Gold rims, silver chains, always understated. But now, with nothing shielding him…
He was devastating.
Her breath caught in her throat. “Professor… Lawrence?” she said, dazed.
“It’s me,” he murmured, visibly relieved. “You’re safe.”
He didn’t know why he’d run to her. All he knew was that the second he heard someone had fallen in—that it was her—his blood had gone cold and he was in the water before he could think.
He always thought he liked Clarissa. But now? Now he realized it was more.
“Clarissa,” another voice broke through.
William stepped forward, kneeling at her side. He took her hand—carefully, like she might break. His fingers trembled.
William—the genius, the stoic man who never flinched, never raised his voice—looked… shaken.
Clarissa stared at him, her voice barely a whisper. “William? You pulled me out?”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
He shrugged off his coat and draped it around her shoulders, his tone gentle but firm. “Don’t talk. The doctor’s almost here.”
Clarissa was exhausted. Her limbs were lead, her head spinning, and her chest still ached from the water.
She didn’t speak again.
She just leaned into the warmth of William’s coat, aware of two men beside her.
And Dorian? He stood off to the side, completely forgotten. Clarissa didn’t spare him a single glance.
Dorian’s face was ashen, his jaw tight with suppressed fury. But when his eyes fell on Clarissa—drenched, fragile, her lips tinged pale—he forced the storm down. Without another word, he turned and stormed off to find someone who could help.
The family doctor wouldn’t arrive for at least an hour. So instead, he dragged his friend Tristan into the scene.
Tristan stumbled slightly as Dorian shoved him forward. “Damn! Why are you manhandling me—”
“Shut up and check her!” Dorian barked.
Tristan’s gaze flicked over the chaotic garden, the wet footprints, the crowd of tense onlookers—and then his eyes landed on Clarissa. Clarissa Lancaster.