June glared but took the drink, tossing it back with forced bravado. The liquor hit hard—too hard—and she coughed, cheeks blooming crimson.

  Annoyed, she looked away—then froze. Clarissa.

  Just a few tables away, the woman sat like a queen among pigs. Even in this cheap bar, in such a sordid setting, Clarissa looked elegant. Serene. Untouchable.

  June’s jaw clenched.

  Darkwood followed her gaze, and his eyes lit up. “Damn... She’s stunning.”

  He couldn’t take his eyes off Clarissa. “You know her?”

  June’s voice came out clipped. “She’s from our school.”

  Her nails dug into her palm. Slut. That bitch was here, drinking with strangers. If William saw this…

  She grabbed her phone and snapped a photo. Darkwood’s eyes flicked to her. Calculating. Cold.

  He leaned in closer, his hand snaking around her waist again. “Come on,” he murmured, “we’ve had our fun. Time to handle our business.”

  June didn’t want to go. But Darkwood didn’t give her the option—he yanked her to her feet, and she stumbled after him, too dazed from the alcohol to fight.

  Back at Clarissa’s table, the drinking contest had turned sloppy. One of the men, face red and eyes glassy, blinked toward her.

  He stumbled forward, voice thick with drunken sincerity. “Clarissa… y’know, I’ve always liked you…”

  The others didn’t stop him. Without warning, he lunged toward her. Fortunately, Clarissa dodged just in time.

  The man’s face twisted into something feral, his drunken bravado turning savage. “Didn’t you say you’d be mine if I won?” he snarled.

  Clarissa’s voice was steady, cold. “You haven’t won yet.”

  “I don’t give a damn!” he roared—and lunged at her.

  But before he could so much as graze her, a slender hand shot out and caught him by the wrist.

  “Who the hell—” the man started to shout, his voice furious. “Who ruined my fun?! Do you wanna die, you piece of—AHHH!”

  His words were drowned in a scream that echoed through the bar, sharp and raw like a dying animal.

  Phoenix’s voice followed, calm and cruel, like a blade pressed against skin. “You were going to touch her with this hand, weren’t you?”

  Crack. A snap echoed, and the man’s arm bent at an unnatural angle.

  Clarissa stumbled backward, stunned by the sudden violence. Her knee hit a stool, nearly sending her crashing to the floor—but someone caught her.

  She turned. Atticus. He stood just behind her, half-shadowed by the dim lights of the dingy bar. She could barely make out his expression, but his grip was firm.

  “Atticus…” she breathed.

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  Before she could say anything more, a sharp crash pulled her attention back across the room.

  Phoenix was in full fury now, a tempest unleashed. Four or five men were already on the ground, groaning, some unconscious, others still trying—and failing—to crawl away. Blood mixed with spilled alcohol. Glass shattered under her boots. Screams—some male, some female—filled the bar.

  Tables were overturned. Bottles smashed. The sound of bones breaking echoed again and again, a violent rhythm to Phoenix’s merciless wrath.

  Clarissa instinctively reached up and covered Atticus’s eyes. She didn’t want him to see this.

  “Stay here,” she whispered. “I’ll be right back.”

  Atticus said nothing. His eyes, though hidden behind her hand, had already gone dark again, the storm beneath the surface expertly concealed.

  Before he could respond, Clarissa turned and ran toward the chaos.

  The bar’s manager finally appeared, a small army of staff behind him. They dropped to their knees, wailing in terror.

  “Mr. Phoenix, please! Please stop! You’re going to kill them!”

  Seeing Clarissa approach, the staff scrambled toward her like drowning men to a rope. “Miss Clarissa, please—please talk to her! If she keeps going, someone’s going to die!”

  Clarissa hesitated for only a second, then rushed to Phoenix, grabbing her bloodied arm with both hands. “Phoenix! Stop!”

  The name hit like a switch. Phoenix froze.

  She turned, eyes wild, chest heaving. Her knuckles were soaked in red, the heavy silver ring on her hand stained dark. When she saw Clarissa’s pale face, her fury dimmed instantly.

  Without a word, she tore the shirt off one of the men still groaning on the ground and wiped her hands clean, then turned to Clarissa and scanned her from head to toe.

  “Are you hurt?” Phoenix asked, voice low but shaking. “Did they touch you? Damn it, Clarissa, I thought I was too late…”

  For the first time, Clarissa saw Phoenix completely lose her composure. Gone was the usual arrogant, teasing woman—this was unfiltered fear and fury.

  Clarissa was stunned for a moment, but quickly collected herself and shook her head. “I’m fine. You got here just in time.”

  Phoenix stared at her a second longer, then let out a breath of relief. “Thank god. You look okay…”

  She turned her gaze briefly toward the back of the bar, toward the shadowed booth where Atticus had remained. “This time, it’s all thanks to that little kid.”

  She remembered the moment clearly—how she’d been ready to storm every VIP suite one by one, panic surging through her. But Atticus had stopped her.

  “Only people in your circle would know the details about her situation,” he’d said. “Anyone reckless enough to try something would’ve only heard half-truths… and those small-time people can only afford the lowest-tier place.”

  And he’d been right. She tightened her grip on her friend’s shoulder. “If we’d been a minute later…”

  Phoenix turned with a deadly calm, her icy gaze sweeping across the crowd. “None of these bastards are walking out of here.”

  A team of people surged into the bar—tactical, sharp-eyed, all of them dressed in black.

  They gave a respectful nod. “Mr. Phoenix!”

  “Take them all. Dig into their backgrounds. Even only evaded a dollar in taxes.”

  Every person still conscious visibly flinched. No one dared move. No one dared speak.

  In all of S City, there was one unshakable rule whispered across every social circle, rich or poor: You could offend every powerful family here… but never the Wraith family.

  The silence was suffocating. A few minutes ago, the place was alive with music, drunk laughter, and cheap flirtation.

  Now, even the air held its breath.

  It wasn’t until Phoenix gently took Clarissa’s wrist and led her out that the spell seemed to break. The men behind them collapsed, trembling, as if drained of all strength.

  After everything that had happened, Phoenix quickly dismissed the rest of the group and offered to drive Clarissa and Atticus home.

  The ride was quiet at first. Until Phoenix started stealing glances at Clarissa. Once. Then again. And again.

  Clarissa sighed, her voice flat. “Phoenix. Just say whatever’s on your mind.”

  Phoenix hesitated—just for a moment. Her hands gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. “Clarissa… did you and Dorian ever sleep together?”

  Clarissa blinked, stunned. “What kind of ridiculous question is that?! Atticus is in the car!”

  Phoenix waved a hand. “What does a kid like him know? Come on, just give me a straight answer. Yes or no.”

  Clarissa lowered her voice in irritation, leaning slightly toward her. “No. Of course not. Are you crazy? Don’t say things like that in front of him.”

  Her eyes flicked to the back seat.

  Atticus was sitting there quietly, one arm resting on the door, earphones in. He stared out the window, seemingly detached from everything happening around him. His face was unreadable.

  Clarissa exhaled slowly. Thank god he didn’t hear that.