Phoenix smirked and picked up a bowling ball. “Let me show you how it’s done. Then I’ll have them bring a lighter one for you.”

  “No need,” Atticus replied coolly. “I’ll use the same as yours.”

  Phoenix arched a brow. She didn’t mock him or question it—just handed him a ball with a casual shrug. “Okay then.”

  With a confident stance, she bowled her shot—clean strike. The crowd nearby erupted with cheers.

  Atticus studied her form for a second, picked up another ball, and mirrored her movement almost perfectly as he released.

  Another strike. Gasps rippled through the club.

  “Holy shit, did you see that?”

  “Kid’s got talent!”

  “Did Mr. Phoenix bring him here himself?”

  Phoenix blinked. She didn’t often get surprised—but that, she had to admit, was impressive. She stepped toward him with a short laugh. “You pick things up fast, kid.”

  Atticus dusted off his hands casually. “It’s not that hard.”

  Phoenix raised her hands in mock surrender and walked over to Clarissa, voice lowered. “Are you sure this is his first time playing?”

  Clarissa nodded, equally surprised. “It should be. He’s never played games like this before, but… yeah, he learns fast.”

  Phoenix gave a dramatic sigh. “So there are people in the world more naturally gifted than me. I think I’m starting to like him.”

  With a playful smirk, she turned back toward Atticus. He didn’t look thrilled by her presence, but he didn’t push her away either. That was progress.

  Clarissa watched them with a bit of relief in her chest. She finally allowed herself a moment to relax, taking a few sips of a cocktail Phoenix had handed her earlier.

  But soon after, she felt the familiar urge hit her—too much liquid, too quickly. She excused herself and headed to the restroom.

  As she stepped back out, someone blocked her path. Clarissa blinked, unsure for a second, and moved to sidestep him—but the man shifted, deliberately cutting her off.

  “Well, well, Miss Clarissa. Where do you think you’re off to?” He leered, and two more men flanked him, all dressed like knock-off socialites with too much money and not enough class.

  “What’s with the outfit?” one of them sneered. “Oh, right—you got kicked out of the Lancaster house, didn’t you? No job now, huh?”

  “Damn, how the mighty have fallen.” Laughter followed—ugly, grating.

  Something flickered in her memory. These were the types of bottom-feeding second-gen heirs she’d always ignored. Clarissa instantly felt a wave of revulsion rise in her gut. Clarissa’s gaze sharpened. She wasn’t in the mood. “If you don’t want trouble,” she said coldly, “get out of my way.”

  That did it. Their fake smiles dropped.

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  “The fuck did you just say?” one of them snapped. “Still think you’re some high-class lady, huh? You’re nothing now. Just some discarded plaything Dorian tossed aside.”

  The ringleader leaned in closer, his breath reeking of alcohol. “But we’re generous. You can come hang out in our booth—entertain us a little. Make us happy, and maybe we’ll throw you some cash, too. Hah…”

  He laughed, filthy and crude, and his mouth inched closer toward her face.

  Realizing the situation was about to spiral, Clarissa turned on her heel and bolted.

  “Shit, she’s running!”

  “Go after her!”

  “Damn, I’ve wanted to screw that bitch for ages—catch her!”

  “Don’t forget us, man. We all get a turn!”

  Their disgusting laughter echoed behind her. Clarissa’s breath came in gasps as she sprinted through the dim corridor, her heels clacking wildly on the marble floor. She gripped her phone tight, frantically dialing Phoenix.

  The line connected quickly. Phoenix’s voice came through, teasing and carefree. “Don’t make the kid drink too much, Clarissa’s gonna scold us when she gets back—”

  “Phoenix!” Clarissa’s voice cracked with panic. “Someone’s after me!”

  “What?” Phoenix’s tone dropped instantly.

  “I’m out in the hallway, near the back exit—I ran away from the bowling alley. There’s a bar here—called…” Her voice cut off suddenly, followed by a high-pitched yelp.

  “Clarissa! Clarissa—shit!” Phoenix stood frozen, her face turning cold and sharp like a blade.

  Back in the hallway, Clarissa had been caught. One of the men had yanked the phone from her hand and slammed it to the ground, shattering it into useless pieces.

  “Run again, sweetheart. I want you,” one of them sneered, breath hot with liquor and lust.

  Clarissa stood still, chest heaving. Fear twisted in her gut, but she forced herself to swallow it down. Her expression slowly changed—panic melting into a slow, sultry smile.

  The men froze. Even in that dim light, the curve of her lips and the glint in her eyes made their blood boil.

  “Damn, look at that face…”

  “She’s even hotter up close.”

  Clarissa’s voice dropped, low and silken. “You guys seem really into me.”

  They nodded like dogs. She laughed softly, the sound teasing, laced with honey. “Honestly? After leaving Dorian... I haven’t had a real man in a while.”

  A few jaws dropped.

  “I wouldn’t mind... finding someone to satisfy me.”

  The men were practically panting now.

  Clarissa let her gaze sweep slowly over them, then tilted her head. “But... there’s so many of you. I can’t possibly handle you all at once, can I?” Her tone was playful, wicked. “One-on-one is just... more my style.”

  The atmosphere shifted—now the men were looking at each other, no longer allies, but rivals.

  She took a single step forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. “How about this… You boys have a little contest. A drinking contest. Whoever drinks the most, I’ll go with him tonight.”

  Their eyes lit up.

  She smirked, watching greed blur into competition. Behind her calm smile, she was counting the seconds. Buying time. Phoenix better be close.

  The men exchanged hesitant glances, unsure.

  Clarissa arched a brow, her voice cold and mocking. “What’s the matter? Scared now? I, Clarissa, don’t play games I can’t handle. Or… are you just all talk?”

  That hit them square in the pride.

  “Hell no!” one of them barked. “You’re mine tonight—don’t you forget that!”

  Their eyes burned with barely restrained lust, like wolves circling a cornered deer. Clarissa’s skin crawled under their gazes. One of them had his hand clamped possessively on her shoulder, and every fiber of her body wanted to recoil—but she held still.

  “Let’s go. Back inside,” the man growled.

  Swallowing her disgust, she let herself be led back into the low-end bar’s cramped, smoky lounge.

  She sat in the corner, detached and quiet, watching as the men began pouring drinks, challenging each other in a reckless show of bravado. Their cheeks flushed red under the influence of alcohol, and their laughter got louder, more unhinged.

  She hated men like this. Every word, every leer—they made her stomach turn. Even the Clarissa from her past life wouldn’t have wasted a second on them. The original Clarissa certainly wouldn’t have.

  She glanced around. The club was huge—four bars in total, tiered by exclusivity. This one was the lowest, meant for the lower-tier rich and petty players. Her phone had been shattered earlier, and she hadn’t had time to share her exact location.

  Damn it… She chewed the inside of her cheek. Phoenix, please—don’t start searching from the luxury suites. Start low… work your way up… hurry.

  Not far away, in a booth near the corner, Darkwood draped an arm around June. He lifted a glass and handed it to her with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.