"Sister, please take it. I was just kidding."
Jasmine snatched the bank card and forced it into Clara’s hand.
Seeing this, Clara didn’t refuse again and took the bank card.
A short while later, Auntie Lowe brought a bowl of oatmeal, a fried egg, and a light broth to the table. "My apologies, miss. I was afraid of making you late for school, so the oatmeal and soup are store-bought. Please make do for today. I promise I’ll make them for you by hand tomorrow."
"It’s alright. This is fine."
Clara nodded. She didn’t care at all if it was homemade or store-bought. All that mattered was knowing her biological parents did, in fact, still love her, and that was enough. ’As for those two brothers I’ve only met once, they just need to stay out of my way.’
Jasmine nibbled on her sandwich, secretly observing Clara’s face. ’Her expression is still as cold as ever,’ she thought, ’but her eyes are clearly different from yesterday. Looks like the heroine’s state of mind has changed.’
After breakfast, Jasmine followed Clara out the door, just like yesterday. And just like yesterday, she linked her arm with Clara’s. This time, Clara didn’t shake her hand off. Instead, she let Jasmine drag her down to the underground garage.
"Why are we in the underground garage?"
Clara asked Jasmine, confused. The driver usually parked in front of the villa to wait for them, not in the garage.
"Sister, I have a gift for you."
Jasmine pulled Clara to a hot pink sports car, her face beaming with excitement as she pointed. "Sister, what do you think? Isn’t it gorgeous? It’s for you."
Clara almost couldn’t look at the blindingly pink sports car. The color was far too bright; it really didn’t suit her. But her eyes lit up the moment she recognized the model.
This was the Rolls-Royce hypercar she’d had her eye on—one of only ten in the world. She had been too late to reserve one back then and had been bummed about it for days.
"Where did this car come from?"
There were only ten in the entire world. Forget about a run-of-the-mill wealthy family like the Sinclairs; even the titans of international old money families would have to pull some serious strings to get one.
"I won it in a bet."
Jasmine knew Clara loved cars. When she found out at the bar yesterday that Kai Keane had this exact car, she agreed to his bet. The worst-case scenario if she lost? She’d just have to pretend to be his girlfriend and help him show off in front of the trashy girl who was playing him.
"Who did you make this bet with? He won’t hold a grudge against you for winning his car, will he?"
Clara looked at the deceptively innocent-looking girl beside her, a flicker of worry in her eyes. ’There are a lot of sore losers in this world. One minute they’re handing over the keys, the next they’re plotting revenge.’
"Of course not. We grew up together. He’s not so petty he can’t handle losing a car. Sister, just tell me, do you like it?"
Clara frowned at the pink paint. "Everything but the color is great."
"That’s great! I knew you’d like it! In that case, Sister... could you drive me to school in it today?"
Jasmine lowered her head, nervously poking her index fingers together in front of her chest. Then, she looked up, her eyes wide with expectation as she gazed at Clara.
Clara found she couldn’t refuse a gaze so full of expectation, yet tinged with a hint of pleading. She pulled open the driver’s side door and slid inside, then snapped impatiently at Jasmine, who was still standing outside. "Aren’t we going to school? Get in."
Jasmine got in the car, beaming. As they drove out of the garage and through the main gate, she spotted a black motorcycle parked in a corner. It wasn’t the one she’d dismantled the engine of the other night, but it still looked familiar.
Jasmine couldn’t resist asking, "Sister, did you get a new motorcycle?"
Clara glanced at the motorcycle, a mocking smile playing on her lips. "Someone lost it to me."
Meanwhile, in the villa next door, Aiden Hayes stepped out of the bathroom, having just taken a cold shower. His discarded underwear was still lying on the floor.
’I raced home last night, so exhausted I passed out the second my head hit the pillow. So how did I still have *that* kind of dream?’
Trying to calm the restless fire in his gut, Aiden went out onto the balcony to get some air. But the moment he saw the black motorcycle in the neighboring villa’s yard, the lust he hadn’t managed to suppress instantly curdled into rage.
’That’s my Obsidian! So the masked girl who beat me last night was Clara Sinclair.’
’Those Sinclair sisters are nothing but trouble. One of them plagues my dreams, and the other drives like a maniac hell-bent on beating me. That pair is just bad news.’
Morning light slanted through the floor-to-ceiling windows, tracing a golden rim on the bone china coffee cup in Dexter Ashford’s hand. He sat at the head of a long dining table. With a silver knife, he sliced through the bacon on his plate, then elegantly forked a piece and brought it to his lips. Even the rhythm of his chewing conveyed an elegance born of years of training.
On the right side of his neck, a strawberry-red hickey stood out against his pale skin. The bruise bloomed with faint teeth marks at its edge, like an arrogant declaration of ownership. Its placement was devilishly clever, positioned just high enough to be half-hidden, half-revealed by his shirt collar. As he tilted his head to sip his coffee, it blinked in and out of view in the morning light.
Dexter Ashford set down his coffee cup and pulled a pearl hair clip from his pocket, idly turning it over in his fingers. She had pressed it into his hand before she left yesterday, calling it proof that she would "take responsibility" for him. ’I’m rather curious how she plans on doing that,’ he mused. ’By dumping that childhood-sweetheart fiancé of hers?’
Beneath the gilded dome of the Capitoline University theater, Rosalyn Sullivan clutched the velvet stage curtain, her nails digging deep into the fabric.
Her eyes burned with jealousy as she watched the stage. There, Jasmine Sinclair, playing Anna Karenina, was performing a scene with the campus heartthrob, who was cast as the young officer, Vronsky. Jasmine was draped in a black velvet cloak.
’I fought for that role, begging the director for it so many times! And every time he just said he’d ’seriously consider it.’ I can’t believe he actually gave it to Jasmine! Said her ’looks and temperament’ were a better fit... And what did I get? A bit part with less than three minutes of stage time.’
’And the worst part is, Jasmine has the audacity to act all modest about it. Complaining that she doesn’t want the lead role, that it has too many scenes, that she doesn’t want to get too tired... She has no idea. The role she’s so casually complaining about is one that I fought for endlessly and still couldn’t get.’
"How could you... how could you leave like this?"
Jasmine’s voice trembled, and tears, like pearls from a broken string, rolled down her cheeks. She gazed at the young officer with a sorrowful expression, her eyes brimming with love and the pain of parting.
The actor reached out to wipe away her tears, but his fingertips froze just before touching her skin. Jasmine turned her head, avoiding the officer’s hand,
with the grace of a true noblewoman recoiling from a presumptuous touch.
A tear escaped the corner of her eye, tracing a path over her cherry-pink lips before disappearing down her fair, slender neck.
"Hey, Hayes, look at her. Isn’t she gorgeous?" the guy beside him asked, nudging Aiden Hayes with his elbow.
Aiden Hayes leaned back in the shadows of the second-floor balcony. The cigarette between his fingers had burned down to the filter. His eyes were fixed on the single teardrop that had vanished into Jasmine’s collar, and he felt his own lips go dry.