Recently, Aaron had been dealing with some mysterious injuries and was in the process of recovering from a pretty serious wound. He didn’t seem keen on talking about it, though; his mood turned somber, and he went quiet.
Meanwhile, Simon was wandering around the second floor, feeling lost. Most of the rooms were private, and he had no clue which door he should knock on.
Clara, on the other hand, suddenly found herself in an unfamiliar room. She leaned heavily against the door, her eyelashes fluttering with each breath. She realized the person beside her wasn’t Z, and instinctively moved to push them away. But as soon as her hand met the stranger’s skin, a hidden longing sparked to life. She didn’t mind the closeness at all.
She tried to make out the stranger's face, but the dim light made it impossible. Taking a deep breath, she gathered herself and attempted to move forward. Instead, she accidentally pushed the door open, stumbling back into the room full of guests.
Behind her, a man's voice said, "I’ll have someone take you home." The sound of a wheelchair approaching was unmistakable, and a gentle hand rested on her wrist. "Don’t open the door, they’ll see you."
Startled, Clara glanced down at him. His face was captivating, and the warmth of his touch was almost intoxicating. Their eyes locked; his gaze was cool yet somehow inviting.
He chuckled softly, saying something that sent her mind spinning. By the time she snapped back to reality, she was sitting on his lap, cradling his face, kissing him with an intensity that surprised even her. Her red lipstick left a mark on his otherwise impassive lips.
When he turned his head away, Clara wasn’t having it; she pulled him back. The room fell silent, the open door revealing their unexpected display to everyone outside. Shocked murmurs and the sound of shattering glasses filled the air.
Dylan, taking in the scene, quietly said, "Ms. Clara, you’re drunk." Her lips brushed his collar, and she looked up, dazed, "What?"
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