Chapter99 – Dorian, get up!
She sat wrapped in a shawl, her soaked dress clinging to every curve, strands of dark hair stuck to her flushed cheeks. Even in that disheveled state, she was heart-stoppingly beautiful.
Tristan swallowed hard. “Alright, alright. I’ll check her.”
He knelt beside her and reached to lift the hem of her gown, just slightly—to make sure there was no water trapped in her abdomen.
But he paused. He could feel it—three intense stares drilling into his skull. Hot. Cold. Violent.
He looked up and saw it: Lawrence’s unreadable gaze, William’s arctic stare, and Dorian’s barely contained rage.
Tristan’s hands froze midair.
“…Right. I’ll just take her pulse instead.”
He dropped his eyes, fingers carefully pressing against Clarissa’s wrist, not daring to do more.
“How is she?” Dorian’s voice was clipped, impatient.
“She’s fine,” Tristan replied, clearing his throat. “Just a shock to the system. No internal trauma. She just needs rest. Warmth..”
Just then, a familiar voice shrieked from across the lawn.
“Clarissa! My baby! What happened?!”
Ophelia came running, pale-faced and frantic. She dropped to her knees beside her daughter, taking in the soaked dress, the limp posture, the dazed expression.
“Oh my god, look at you—look at you, you're freezing!” she cried, pulling Clarissa into a desperate embrace, her hands moving over her arms, her back, searching for injuries.
“Mom, I’m okay…” Clarissa tried to reassure her, but her voice was faint, and the world around her still spun a little too fast.
Nathaniel arrived just in time to pull Ophelia back before she smothered her.
Servants helped Clarissa to her feet. Her limbs were heavy, her head light.
Ophelia immediately begged her to stay and rest on-site, but Clarissa shook her head. “No. Really. I just want to go home and sleep. That’s all.” Someone was waiting for her at home—Atticus.
“I’ll have the driver take you,” Ophelia offered.
“I’ll take her.” William stepped forward, his voice calm but firm.
Everyone turned. Lawrence, who had been silently watching from the side, gave only a quiet smile—but said nothing.
William moved to stand directly in front of Ophelia and gave a courteous nod. “William. I’ll make sure she gets home safely.”
Clarissa didn’t protest. She was too exhausted. Too cold. And somehow, being near William made her feel… steadier.
Ophelia’s eyes widened slightly. William—the rising star, the tech world’s golden boy, and a man every elite family was eager to befriend.
Seeing Clarissa show no resistance, she immediately smiled.
“Of course, of course. I’ll leave her in your care.” Without hesitation, she pushed Clarissa gently into his arms.
Clarissa could only offer a tired, bitter smile.
God, her mother was so eager to marry her off she might start advertising her like a luxury auction item.
William wrapped his coat tighter around her shoulders and led her toward the driveway. His presence was solid. Warm. Safe.
But behind them, Dorian’s eyes followed, cold and venomous.
His fists clenched by his sides. He couldn’t stop staring at the way Clarissa leaned slightly into William’s frame… the way she let him touch her, hold her, lead her.
Not even a flinch. No rejection. No awkwardness.
Had something happened between them before?
And Lawrence—damn him. Dorian’s gut twisted.
The night should have been one of passion—one that sealed their vows with the heat of desire. But as Dorian looked at Lyra, sitting stiffly in her usual plain white nightgown, all he felt was… indifference.
Lyra wasn’t in a good mood either.
She had waited for him for hours, her bridal makeup long smudged, her carefully styled hair falling loose around her shoulders. The longer Dorian stayed away, the more her heart sank.
By the time he entered the bedroom, her eyes were already red from holding back tears.
She didn’t say a word—just turned away, crawled under the silk covers, and sulked in silence.
Dorian noticed. He always did.
In the past, when Lyra got emotional, he found her a little entertaining, even charming. She was direct, proud, always reaching for his attention without pretense.
But tonight, something felt different. Her emotions didn’t stir desire in him.
Without a word, he walked over, pulled back the sheets, and lay down beside her, eyes shut as if she wasn’t even there.
Lyra waited for a touch. A kiss. A whisper. Something.
Nothing came.
She finally sat up, seething. “What are you doing?”
Dorian didn’t open his eyes. “We’ve had a long day. Go to sleep.”
Her heart twisted.
This was their wedding night. And yet, her husband—the man who had just made vows to her in front of hundreds—was acting like she didn’t exist. Worse, he had jumped into a pond for another woman.
Clarissa. Her half-sister.
The more Lyra thought about it, the more the fury boiled up, mixing with years of suppressed jealousy, fear, and longing.
“Dorian, get up!” she snapped, her voice cracking. “Explain it to me!”
He opened his eyes and turned to her slowly, brows drawn together. “Explain what? Why are you making a scene?”
“I’m making a scene?!” Her voice rose, high and shaking. “It’s our wedding night, and you ran off to save Clarissa—what the hell do you think I’m supposed to feel?”
“She’s your sister. My childhood friend. I grew up with her. What’s so strange about me jumping in to help her?”
“There were dozens of people there! You didn’t have to go yourself!”
Dorian sat up, his expression growing cold. “Lyra, I thought you were more understanding than this. I didn’t think you would be the one to say something so petty.”
She choked, stunned. Her face drained of color.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” she said quickly, reaching for his sleeve, her voice trembling. “I’m not jealous. I just… I was worried. About you. Dorian. Please don’t take it the wrong way. I didn’t mean to sound so selfish...”
Her tears fell freely now, hot and frantic.
He hesitated—then sighed, gently brushing a tear from her cheek. He tucked the edge of the quilt around her shoulders with tenderness.
“Don’t overthink it. I know you didn’t mean anything by it.”
Lyra bit her lip, trying to swallow down her shame. She leaned in slightly, her voice soft, needy.
“Dorian... let’s just forget everything tonight. Let’s just rest.”
She pressed her lips to his—tentative, hopeful.
But he didn’t kiss her back. Instead, he turned his face away, voice cool. “I have things to handle in the study. I’ll be back late. If you’re tired, sleep first.”
And just like that, he rose from the bed and left, footsteps echoing into silence.
Lyra sat frozen. Her heart cracked slowly, painfully open.
She had married him. She had finally become Mrs. Harrington. She had won.
So why did it feel like she was still losing?
Tears spilled again—uncontrollably, quietly—into the soft folds of the quilt.
And in the other room, Dorian poured himself a drink, leaned back in his chair, and tried—unsuccessfully—to shake the image of Clarissa’s face as she lay unconscious in another man’s arms.
......
In the quiet hum of the car, William handed Clarissa a towel and a bottle of water. “Are you still feeling sick?” he asked, his voice low and laced with concern.
Clarissa accepted both with a grateful smile. She dabbed at her damp hair and pale cheeks, then shook her head. “I’m fine. I just need to get home and rest.”
“I’ll take you,” William said, glancing at her curled-up frame in the passenger seat. She looked so small, almost fragile. He reached forward and turned the heat up a notch.
He hesitated, then asked, “How did you fall in?”