"Here."

Theodore handed the panties to Clarice.

Clarice lifted her head and saw his long fingers holding the delicate lace.

She lowered her gaze and quietly took the garment from his hand, careful not to meet his eyes. She was still mortified about flirting with him back at the bar.

Apparently, Theodore didn't remember. In fact, he couldn't even recall what his young wife looked like.

He turned away, just as Clarice spoke softly.

"Thank you... Theo."

She wanted to tell him she had already drawn a bath for him.

Theodore glanced back and saw her standing there with her head bowed, looking shy.

Shy? Not really. That was just an act-one Clarice wore well. For now, silence and obedience were her best strategy.

Theodore stared at her-fresh from the shower, wrapped in nothing but a towel, beads of water trickling down her bare shoulders, carrying with them a faint scent of roses.

Heat surged through his body.

"Come here," he said in a low voice, locking eyes with her.

Clarice gave him a quick glance, then stepped forward obediently. She barely took a step when Theodore pulled her straight into his arms. The scent of tobacco and whiskey enveloped her instantly.

What was he doing? Did he seriously want her... now?

Clarice couldn't help but wonder where all those rumors about him being impotent had come from. They'd only just reunited, and Theodore already looked like he was ready to devour her.

He wrapped an arm around her waist and leaned in to kiss her.

The kiss was hot and hungry, burning away every coherent thought in Clarice's head.

In bed, Theodore was surprisingly gentle-attentive, even. He cared about her pleasure, made sure she felt good. Physically, they were perfectly in sync.

But Clarice knew that wasn't enough. No matter how satisfying the sex, deep down, she longed for something more-something whole, something real.

When she agreed to marry Theodore in place of Lydia, she had known exactly what role she needed to play.

Whatever he was like, whatever he wanted-she would yield, gracefully and sweetly, until the day he grew tired of her.

"You taste so good," he murmured, his tongue trailing across her lips, claiming her in a way words never could.

Clarice melted into him, her fingers curling inside his shirt. The way she touched him only made him burn hotter. His gaze darkened with desire.

Without warning, he lifted her into his arms and carried her straight to the bed.

"Looks like there's no need to put those panties back on," he said with a teasing smirk.

He loosened her towel slowly, then dipped his head down-deep-and began to kiss her, lower and lower, until he reached that secret place.

Clarice knew what was coming next-a long, breathless night of unrestrained, intoxicating pleasure.

-----

By the time the sun came up, Theodore was already gone.

What woke her wasn't the light-it was a call from her father, Charles Sullivan.

The Sullivan family had a decent name in Velmont. Charles and Clarice's mother had built the Sullivan Group from the ground up. It had taken them decades to earn their status.

But truth be told, compared to families like the Grants, the Sullivans didn't really count.

In Velmont, if Theodore so much as twitched a finger, the entire city would feel it. So when he showed up with a marriage proposal, Charles didn't even hesitate-he handed his daughter over without a second thought.

The funny thing was, Clarice wasn't the original choice.

That was Lydia-two years older, the daughter of Charles's affair. He and Margaret Sullivan spoiled her to the bone. But when Lydia refused to marry into the Grant family, they immediately turned to the daughter Charles never cared for-the one left behind after her mother died: Clarice.

"Clarice!"

The moment she stepped through the front door of the Sullivan estate, Lydia's furious voice rang out.

Before Clarice could react, Lydia had already raised her hand to slap her. But Clarice saw it coming and dodged with ease.

"Did you just dodge me?!" Lydia shrieked, livid.

What, was she supposed to just stand there and get slapped?

Clarice stared at her blankly, raised an eyebrow-like she was watching a bad comedy.

She gave Lydia a cold glance and turned to go inside, but Lydia suddenly grabbed her arm.

"This is all your fault! You ruined my dress-with paint!"

Last night, Lydia had shown up to a party in a brand-new white dress, expecting to turn heads. Instead, she got laughed at.

Right above her hip was a streak of red paint. Not big-but impossible to miss.

"Yeah," Clarice said calmly, not even bothering to deny it.

But was it really her fault? Lydia loved buying white dresses and pretending to be innocent and pure.

Her calm admission nearly made Lydia explode.

She raised her hand again-but then caught a glimpse of something beneath Clarice's collar.

Red marks. From her neck down to her chest. Obvious. Unmistakable.

Theodore's handiwork.

"Clarice, you're just like your precious sister Sophia. Deep down, you're nothing but a filthy whore."

The words had barely left Lydia's mouth when Clarice's hand struck her across the face-hard.

Fast and sharp. Lydia never saw it coming.

She'd been pampered her whole life by Charles and Margaret. Being slapped-especially by Clarice-was unthinkable. Her pride snapped.

"You bitch! How dare you hit me?!"

She lunged at Clarice, swinging blindly. Clarice sidestepped and walked straight into the living room.

"Dad! Clarice hit me!" Lydia wailed, storming in with tears and a bright red handprint on her cheek.

Charles and Margaret's expressions turned sour the moment they saw her face.

Charles had always favored Lydia. In the past, he wouldn't have hesitated to slap Clarice right back. But now... he held back.

"Clarice, just apologize and let's be done with this," he said, trying to keep his voice level.

"Clarice, if you're upset, take it out on me. There's no need to lash out at your sister," Margaret said sweetly, as if Clarice had hit Lydia just to spite her.

And sure, Clarice hated Margaret. Honestly, hate might be putting it lightly.

Who could love the woman who stole your father and drove your mother to her grave?

"Margaret, she tried to hit me first," Clarice replied calmly.

"Dad, I was just messing with her, and she hit me-hard. Look at my face!" Lydia cried.

Her cheek was visibly red. Clarice didn't flinch. Why should she? Lydia had crossed a line-talking about Sophia like that.

"Clarice, hitting someone is wrong. Apologize," Charles snapped, starting to lose patience.

Clarice gave a faint smile. Of course. Just like always. No one cared about the truth. She was always the one who had to apologize. Always the one who had to take the fall.

Not this time.

"Dad," she said, brushing her hair back to reveal the faint kiss marks on her neck, "Lydia insulted me-said disgusting things. That's why I slapped her."

Charles caught sight of the marks, and realization flickered in his eyes. Had Theodore accepted Clarice after all?

"Technically, Theodore and I haven't even registered the marriage yet," Clarice added lightly.

"It already takes everything I've got just to keep him in check. So don't push me. If this whole fragile engagement blows up, Lydia's the one who'll have to step in-whether she likes it or not?"

The room went dead silent. Nobody cared about apologies anymore.

Sure, the Grant family was one of the most powerful in the country. But Lydia had never wanted this marriage-not just because of the rumors, but because Theodore was ten years older.

And more importantly, she had someone else in her heart: Jordan Moore, heir to the Moore family.

The Moores weren't as powerful as the Grants, but Jordan was handsome, gentle-her perfect prince. And Lydia? She played the part of the pretty little princess.

The irony? Jordan was already engaged-to Clarice. A match arranged by their families when they were kids.

"I'm not marrying him! Theodore's terrifying-and way older than me! I'm not doing it!"

True-he was ten years older than Lydia. Twelve years older than Clarice.

"You won't have to, sweetheart," Margaret said, patting Lydia's hand and exchanging a glance with Charles.

"Clarice, what nonsense are you talking about?" Charles snapped.

"You're already with Mr. Grant. You can't pretend nothing happened."

Then his tone softened.

"Maybe Lydia went too far, and yes, you hit her-but let's just drop this, alright?"

Clarice glanced at Lydia and let out a reluctant "Mm."

Charles motioned for her to sit.

"Clarice, I asked you to come back because we need to talk."

Clarice took her seat across from him, pulled out her phone, and casually texted Chloe:

Street race tonight. Don't be late.

I'll be there. On time.

By the time she looked up, Charles had already finished whatever he was saying-not that she'd heard a word of it.

"Clarice!"

He frowned at her blank expression.

"Sorry, Dad? What was that?"

He looked annoyed, but since he needed her help, he repeated himself.

"We're hosting a banquet in a few days. You need to bring Mr. Grant with you."

Bring Theodore home? Yeah, right. Dream on.

Lydia let out a cold laugh.

"Dad, do you really think she can pull that off? She's just Theodore's little toy."

"That's right, Dad. I'm just his plaything," Clarice said calmly, locking eyes with Lydia.

Lydia hadn't expected her to own it. The bluntness threw her off.

"Watch your mouth, Lydia," Charles snapped, then turned to Clarice. "Clarice, I believe in you."

The Sullivans were working on a major project-but funding was tight. If the Grant family got involved, it wouldn't just succeed-it would attract further investors and triple the company's market value. But without their backing. the Sullivans could face a hostile takeover, or lose nearly half their assets.

But Clarice had been living at the Grant estate for a while now, and Theodore hadn't shown his face once. Charles hadn't even had the chance to bring up the deal.

"Dad, that's asking too much," Clarice said.

And it was. Up to this point, the only things she'd ever said to Theodore were lines like:

"Oh my God."

"Faster. please."

"Right there. yes, yes!"

"I'm coming."

"Clarice! You have to bring Mr. Grant home!" Charles snapped, his voice cold and full of threat.

"Think about Sophia."

Sophia-her only real family. Her condition was fragile. She had no one else to rely on.

Clarice swallowed her emotions and gave a reluctant nod.

"I'll do it."

"I'm going to check on Sophia," she said quietly, rising to her feet and heading upstairs.

Margaret's gaze drifted toward the staircase, then snapped back to Charles as a thought struck her. "Darling," she murmured, a silent understanding passing between them.

Charles cleared his throat, his voice carrying up the stairs after Clarice. "Since you're with Mr. Grant now, it's time to return the Moore family heirloom ring."

Clarice's step hitched for only a second at the mention of the Moores. A faint, mocking smile touched her lips, but she didn't turn or slow her ascent.

She and Jordan had been engaged for years-back when her mother was still alive. That heirloom ring had been passed down from old Mr. Moore, meant for his future granddaughter-in-law.

Clarice had always thought Jordan would be her husband. She'd done everything she could to impress the Moore family, hoping to marry him by the time she turned twenty.

Once that day came, she'd finally be able to leave the Sullivan house and start a quiet life with Jordan.

But that day never came.

She wasn't even twenty yet when Charles forced her to marry Theodore in Lydia's place.

What made it worse? Lydia and Jordan had already been together for two years. Charles, Margaret, and even Jordan's parents had known-and allowed it.

If the Grant family hadn't come out of nowhere with a proposal, Clarice might have stayed in the dark forever.

"Mom, what's Clarice's problem?" Lydia snapped, clearly annoyed at being brushed off.

"She's already with Theodore. Why is she still clinging to the Moore heirloom?"

Margaret patted her hand soothingly.

"Exactly, Lydia-like you said. She's with Theodore now. She has no future with the Moores."

"But what if she refuses?" Lydia fretted, her voice dropping. "You know Old Mr. Moore. He only acknowledges the woman wearing that ring."

A slow, calculated smile spread across Margaret's lips as she glanced toward the forbidden upper floor. "Then it's a good thing the sisters will have some time to reconnect today, isn't it?"

Understanding dawned in Lydia's eyes, bright and cruel. Of course. They still had Sophia.

Because of Sophia, Clarice had bowed her head and married Theodore. She was completely at their mercy.

-

She climbed all the way to the top floor-the forbidden level, where Charles permitted no one but himself. The air here was always still and heavy with silence.

Clarice paused outside the door, taking a shaky breath. All the defiance she'd worn like armor downstairs seemed to melt away, leaving only a raw, aching tenderness. When she stepped inside and saw Sophia, her eyes stung.

"Sophia."

A woman sat on the bed, long hair draped over her shoulders, quietly staring out the window.

She turned at the sound of Clarice's voice. And when she saw her, her delicate, pale face lit up with a soft, innocent smile.

Clarice walked in and climbed onto the bed, gently curling up in her arms.

"I missed you, Sophia."

Her eyes welled with tears almost instantly. She blinked hard to hold them back, wiped the corners of her eyes, and looked up again-meeting Sophia's dreamy, trusting gaze.

"Want me to brush your hair?"

Sophia didn't respond, her gaze still lost somewhere beyond the window, but she leaned slightly into Clarice's touch.

Clarice picked up the brush anyway and began running it through her hair.

She didn't know when-or if-she'd ever be able to get Sophia out of here. Or escape Charles's grip herself.

Marrying Theodore, breaking the engagement, giving up the ring.

Clarice didn't even want to imagine what Charles might try to force her to do next.

She had nothing left, but no matter how hard things got, she couldn't leave Sophia behind.

By late afternoon, Clarice left the Sullivan estate, the weight of Sophia's situation still pressing on her. But tonight-tonight was for the race. For the prize money that could change everything.

The underground race was set for midnight-dangerous, chaotic, and full of adrenaline. Definitely not for the faint of heart.

The prize money this time? Insane. Enough to make Clarice absolutely determined to win.

She'd been sneaking out to race for two years now, dancing with danger every time.

Her skills had sharpened, her courage hardened. Sure, she needed the money-but that didn't mean she didn't value her life.

Because if something happened to her-who would take care of Sophia?

----

"Clarice! Try not to wreck my brother's car,"Chloe grinned, leaning out of the driver's window.

Clarice took one look at the vehicle and knew right away-it was custom-built.

The curves, the interior-every detail screamed high-end performance.

"Factory custom," Chloe said proudly. "You won't find another one like it."

Clarice gave her a playful pat on the shoulder.

Same world, different scripts. Chloe had a big brother most girls could only dream of.

"By the way, Clarice-what the hell happened last night? You ditched me!"

Clarice quickly explained that the guy she kissed at the bar wasn't just some random stranger-he was her husband.

Yep. Theodore himself.

Her marriage was a tightly guarded secret.

Aside from her own family, only Chloe knew.

"Theodore?!" Chloe looked like she was about to jump off a cliff. "That was Theodore? Wait-so the rumors about him being... you know... are they true?"

Clarice almost laughed. If she only knew what he was like in bed.

"Seriously, with a body like that? No way. Unless. wait, don't tell me he's gay? Have you guys done it yet? How's his technique?"

Chloe's questions spilled out nonstop. Clarice was about to tell her to shut up when a voice called from behind.

"Claire!" Leo Grant swaggered into view, the onetime racing king dethroned by her.

"You lose tonight, you run ten laps around City Square.Naked."

Laughter rippled through the crowd.

Leo wasn't here for the prize money. He just wanted to humiliate her.

"Deal!" Clarice snapped back without hesitation.

She wore a tight black leather jumpsuit that hugged her curves perfectly.

She looked sharp, sleek-and absolutely fearless.

"But if you lose, Leo, you run twenty laps. Same place. Same rules. Ten a.m. Naked," she said, smiling sweetly.

He wanted a show? Let's see if he could deliver.

"You-" Leo's face darkened, jaw clenching.

"Worry about your own underwear, Leo," Clarice said, yanking the car door open and sliding inside.

Chloe jumped into the passenger side beside her.

On the track, no one used real names.

Clarice was Claire.

Chloe was Coco.