Clara York collapsed onto the sofa, her body going slack as the alcohol finally caught up with her. A dull heat burned in her chest, making her fingers fumble impatiently with the buttons at her collar until she loosened them, letting in a breath of cool air.
Even in that disheveled state, she looked striking. The bodycon skirt traced every curve of her figure, and the way she lay there… half-conscious, hair spilling over the cushions, gave her the fragile beauty of a rose just past full bloom.
Pookiemoné hurried to the kitchen and returned with a cup of warm honey water. She pressed it gently into Clara's hands.
"Slowly, sis… drink this."
Clara didn't listen. She lifted the cup and drained it in one go, as if she could wash away the bitterness along with it. Pookie sighed, rubbing her back in small, comforting circles.
"Sis, didn't that rich guy invite you to dinner tonight? Why did you end up like this? Did he make you drink?"
Her voice sharpened with worry. "I knew he wasn't decent. You shouldn't see him anymore, especially if you don't even like him…"
Clara felt a flicker of warmth at her sister's concern, but it faded quickly. She closed her eyes for a moment, then shook her head, a helpless smile tugging at her lips.
"I know exactly what kind of person he is," she said quietly. "But what choice do I have? If we can't gather the money for Mom's surgery this week, the hospital will discharge her. Right now… he's the only one who can help."
That dinner at the Oxford Hotel hadn't been just a simple invitation. The wealthy heir had laid everything out plainly, too plainly. If Clara agreed to travel with him to Azure Bay, he would transfer the full amount for her mother's surgery.
"Travel," he'd called it.
Clara wasn't naive. A man and a woman, alone in a resort room by the sea… the meaning behind it was obvious.
The thought made her stomach twist. She despised him, every calculating smile, every casual word that treated her dignity like something negotiable. Still, for her mother's sake, she hadn't refused outright. She'd asked for time. Two days.
And he'd agreed, confident, patient… as if the answer was already his.
Clara's fingers tightened slightly against the sofa fabric.
'Is this really the only way?'
The question lingered, heavy and suffocating.
Before she could sink deeper into it, Pookiemoné spoke up, her voice suddenly bright with determination.
"Sis, don't worry. I'll figure something out!"
Clara opened her eyes, startled.
"I met someone amazing during my stream today," Pookie continued, her eyes lighting up.
"He tipped me over a hundred thousand dollars in one go! After the platform takes its cut, I still got fifty or sixty thousand. If I can meet him, maybe… maybe I can borrow the rest."
She tried to sound confident, but there was a faint tremor underneath.
Clara froze. "Fifty… sixty thousand?"
Even for her, that wasn't a small amount, it was years of income.
Her first instinct wasn't relief. It was suspicion.
"…Did he ask you for anything?" Clara's gaze instinctively drifted over her sister, lingering for a moment before she sighed.
As a lawyer, even a trainee, she knew better than most that money rarely came without strings attached.
In her mind, this "generous benefactor" looked no different from the man she'd just left.
If anyone had to make a sacrifice, she would rather it be herself.
Pookiemoné immediately caught the look in her eyes and shook her head quickly.
"No, sis! He's not like that!" she insisted. "We only played one game together. He didn't ask for anything, he just sent the gifts and left. Didn't even message me afterward."
Clara studied her face carefully.
"Is that really true?"
Pookie nodded without hesitation. "I'm not lying. I'll message him tomorrow and see if we can meet. We won't take his money for nothing, we can pay him back slowly."
She hesitated, then added with a small, hopeful smile, "He seems really generous. I think he might agree."
Clara didn't respond immediately. Her sister had always been straightforward, almost to a fault. But if what she said was true… then maybe there was another way.
After a long pause, Clara finally nodded.
"Alright. But I'm coming with you."
Pookiemoné blinked.
"I won't let you meet someone like that alone," Clara added, her tone firm despite the lingering haze of alcohol. "At least I can help you judge what kind of person he really is."
After all, even as an intern lawyer, she trusted her own instincts far more than her sister's.
And if this man truly had ulterior motives… she would see through them.
….
The next morning came far too quickly.
Kobe Gray was dragged out of sleep by Caleb Scott's voice ringing through the dorm.
"Up, up! Military training starts today, move it or we're late!"
Every university story seemed to begin the same way: with the chaos of freshmen stumbling through their first military drills.
By the time they assembled on the field, the sun was already high, its heat pressing down without mercy. Within an hour, uniforms clung to damp skin, and the air shimmered above the concrete.
When the instructor finally called for a break, it felt like a pardon from a sentence.
"Fifteen minutes!"
The students scattered instantly, crowding into whatever scraps of shade they could find. Around them, clusters of upperclassmen had gathered, openly watching, some curious, some amused, some clearly just there to spot attractive newcomers.
Among them, Isabella Sinclair pushed her way forward.
The scene from yesterday still lingered in her mind, gnawing at her. Seeing Kobe Gray laughing with Sophia Laurent had left a bitter taste she couldn't shake. She needed answers.
Moreover, Kobe Gray's heroic act of standing up for the waitress yesterday had stirred a slight flutter in her heart.
Her eyes scanned the crowd, searching.
Then she froze.
"…Brianna Monroe?"
Not far away, Brianna stood in front of Kobe Gray, holding out a chilled bottle of water, the condensation glistening in the sunlight.