He laughed lightly, brushing her cheek with the back of his hand. “Of course not. I’m just concerned. That crowd’s not always… gentle. I didn’t want you to feel overwhelmed.”

  “I’ll be fine,” she said. “If I want to stand beside you, I have to get used to it, right?”

  For a second, Dorian just stared at her. Then he smiled, kissed her gently on the forehead, and murmured, “Alright. I’ll have someone send you a dress and do your styling.”

  7:00 PM, Phoenix arrived early.

  Clarissa had just finished her makeup—red lips, dark lashes, a perfectly applied smoky eye—and was slipping into a bold, curve-hugging scarlet dress that clung like silk to skin. The deep V neckline and side slit were sensual without being vulgar;

  Clementine fussed with the belt at the back of her dress. “Clarissa, don’t stay out too late. And let Miss Phoenix bring you home if possible, alright?”

  Clarissa smiled and nodded. “Don’t worry. I’ll be careful.”

  Clementine wasn’t fully convinced, but she let it go with a sigh. She knew Clarissa’s temper—and once the spark was lit… it was impossible to predict what would happen next.

  Clarissa descended the stairs carefully, lifting the hem of her dress as she moved. The heels made her legs look impossibly long, but the dress’s dramatic length demanded cautious steps.

  Halfway down, a hand reached up to her. “Need a hand?”

  The voice was cool, magnetic—deep enough to belong to a man, but smooth and sultry enough. She looked down and froze for half a second.

  Phoenix stood there, hand extended, a lazy smile tugging at her lips.

  And god—she was stunning. Not in the delicate, doll-like way most women aimed for, but something far more dangerous and androgynous. Her black, slightly tousled short hair fell around her face like the perfect storm—sharp, sexy, rebellious.

  She wore a loose black button-down shirt, sleeves rolled carelessly to the elbows. The top two buttons were undone, revealing an elegant collarbone and a glimpse of toned chest. Silver rings adorned her fingers—one with a black gem, another glinting in the dim hallway light. A leather glove hugged one hand, and around her throat was a silver chain with a blood-red gemstone pendant shaped like a cross.

  Her diamond earrings caught the light, twinkling as she tilted her head just slightly, flashing a grin that walked the line between charming and dangerous.

  Clarissa had read the original book. In it, Phoenix was described as a wild tomboy—unruly, brash, unpredictable. Clarissa had expected rough edges. What she hadn’t expected… was someone so effortlessly alluring.

  Clarissa hesitated at the doorway, her steps slowing.

  Phoenix tilted her head with a teasing smirk. “What’s wrong, baby? Don’t tell me you’re mad again. You promised you’d come with me tonight—no backing out now.”

  Clarissa softened, placing her hand into Phoenix’s. “How could I back out?”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Phoenix smiled faintly and, without warning, gave her hand a gentle tug. Clarissa stumbled forward and landed squarely in Phoenix’s arms.

  Caught off guard, she looked up—straight into Phoenix’s smoldering eyes and that signature, cocky grin.

  She was tall—definitely over 5'9", maybe even taller with those height-boosting shoes. Standing this close, Phoenix towered over her. Confident. Calm. Dangerous in all the right ways.

  Phoenix had been bracing for a slap or at least a snarky retort. Clarissa’s temper was legendary, after all. But instead—

  “Thanks,” Clarissa said softly, steadying herself. No glare. No protest.

  Phoenix blinked. Huh. Not angry?

  She narrowed her eyes as Clarissa turned away, then strode up behind her and wrapped an arm snugly around her waist.

  “You’re wearing those killer heels,” she murmured near her ear, voice low and intimate. “Let me hold you.”

  Clarissa caught the faint scent of Phoenix’s cologne—clean and sharp, with a subtle warmth that lingered. It wasn’t as harsh or overwhelming as Dorian’s, and because Phoenix was a woman, her proximity didn’t trigger the usual alarm bells.

  “Okay,” Clarissa replied quietly.

  That one word made Phoenix’s lips curl with genuine surprise. She pulled Clarissa a little closer, opened the door for her, and guided her to the sleek black sports car waiting outside.

  Phoenix slid into the driver’s seat, threw on a pair of mirrored sunglasses, and called out, “Hold on tight!”

  Clarissa barely had time to brace herself before the car roared to life, surging forward like a beast unleashed.

  She’d never been in a car this fast before. Her stomach twisted at every sharp turn, every acceleration. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the door handle, trying to keep her cool—but her face was pale when they finally screeched to a halt.

  Phoenix hopped out, strolled around to Clarissa’s side, and opened the door like a gentleman. She caught her before she could stumble, laughing under her breath.

  “Feeling a little weak?” she teased. “You look even prettier when you’re delicate.”

  Clarissa rolled her eyes and said nothing, brushing past her.

  If they hadn’t grown up together—if she didn’t know Phoenix was a woman—she would’ve never guessed it. Everything about her exuded masculine energy: her stance, her confidence, her eyes that held secrets and danger in equal measure.

  They walked into the venue together. It was one of S City’s most exclusive clubs—a sprawling luxury compound with everything from a private golf course and underground casino to a racing track hidden out back.

  As they entered, every employee who passed by paused and bowed respectfully. “Welcome, Mr. Phoenix.”

  Phoenix returned the greetings with a lazy, roguish smile, then turned to the club’s manager.

  “Let me know the moment Dorian arrives,” she said. “And make sure someone competent serves him. He’s the guest of honor tonight.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The Wraith family wasn’t just powerful—it was legendary. While the Harringtons controlled money and influence, the Wraiths held power. Real power.

  Their bloodline traced back to nobility. Phoenix’s grandfather was a decorated military commander. Though their family had few heirs, Phoenix—born female—had been raised as the only son. From day one, they groomed her for leadership, dressing her in boy’s clothes, putting her through grueling military training, and treating her as the rightful heir to the Wraith legacy.

  In the original book, Phoenix had been a background character. She started in military special ops, became a police officer, and was destined to inherit her grandfather’s title. People rarely called her “Miss.” To the world, she was Mr. Phoenix.

  Clarissa walked beside her down the long corridor, the soft echo of their heels bouncing off the marble floor. When the heavy doors opened, the opulent main hall welcomed them with a low hum of conversation, music, and murmured speculation.

  Phoenix ordered herself a whiskey, her fingers casually spinning the glass by the rim. Then she turned, her sharp eyes scanning Clarissa. “What do you want to drink?”

  Clarissa lifted a brow. “You’re driving. Be drinking?”

  Phoenix blinked, caught off guard for a second—then let out a low laugh. “You actually care?” She leaned in slightly, a teasing glint in her eyes. “Then how about you drive? I’ll get you a nice little lemonade, yeah?”

  She’d meant to tease. Clarissa used to be wild—uninhibited when she wanted to be. Phoenix fully expected a glare or at least a sarcastic jab in return.

  Instead, Clarissa just nodded. “Okay.”