We Would Never Meet Again

"Rea offered you a drink and you refuse to accept it?"

The cold voice rang in her ears and it made Clara's whole-body shudder. Finally, she lifted the glass and downed the clear liquid in one gulp.

The burning liquid scorched her throat and an unbearable pain tore through her insides. Her already broken body screamed in agony, her face turning deathly pale. Unable to endure it, she shoved past the crowd and rushed to the restroom.

She barely made it before collapsing in front of the toilet. She violently vomited out every drop she had just swallowed.

When she heard the retching sounds from the toilet, Rea’s face turned pale, her voice carrying a trace of grievance sounded, "Clara … do you hate me that much?"

The moment those words left her lips, Ian's face darkened. He gently patted Rea's hand, his gaze firm as he reassured her, "That’s impossible. No one would hate you."

With that, he turned and strode toward the toilet to check what it was all about.

Inside, Clara clutched the porcelain bowl as her body trembled. Through the haze of pain, she saw something unsettling come out from her. There were streaks of blood mixed with unidentifiable fragments of flesh. Her limbs throbbed with a twisted ache and cold sweat broke out across her forehead.

As a result of drinking the wine, the damage from her death was becoming impossible to hide. Blood seeped through her pant leg and dripped onto the floor.

With great effort, she stood up and adjusted her clothes to smooth out any visible wrinkles. As she stared at the ghostly pale reflection in the mirror, she let out a bitter chuckle.

Should she consider herself lucky? Since her black outfit managed to conceal the blood well enough.

After she composed herself, she opened the door to slip in without the crowd noticing. However, as soon as she looked up, she was met with Ian's piercing gaze.

For a brief moment, she wondered if he was actually worried about her. A trace of hesitation flickered in her eyes before she decided to be honest and told him, "I feel terrible. May I be an excuse to go upstairs to rest?"

She thought it was a simple request, one that needed no explanation.

Unfortunately, Ian’s expression darkened further, his voice laced with anger. "I thought you had finally learned some manners when you apologized earlier for your inappropriate attire. However, in the end, you’re still causing trouble on purpose as you usually did. Did you refuse to drink Rea's toast just to embarrass her?"

Clara froze and the pain in her chest intensified even more. For a second, she couldn’t even tell if it was her broken body or his words that hurt her more. She forced a smile and tried to explain, "I do feel unwell."

"I don’t care if you’re truly sick or just pretending," he cut her off coldly. "Rea offered you a drink. You will finish it."

Without giving her a chance to refuse, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her back toward Rea.

"Clara realized she was being rude earlier, so she came back to apologize with a toast," Ian announced, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Stunned, Clara looked up at him. Her gaze met his sharp, warning gaze.

Swallowing back the bitterness rising in her throat, she turned to the glass in her hand. A faint, resigned smile touched her lips as she slowly brought it to her lips and drank it all down.

The pain exploded in her body like a detonated bomb and scattered her consciousness into pieces.

By the time the banquet ended, she had barely regained her senses.

Once the guests had all left, Rea lingered behind. Ian didn’t even hesitate before he made a declaration, "From now on, Rea will be moving in with me."

Then, he turned to look at Clara, eyes sharp, as if expecting she would make trouble or a fuss.

However, the pain was so overwhelming that Clara did not have any energy left to utter objection or make trouble. She just simply said, "Okay."

She felt she had given the correct answers but Ian frowned and there was confusion in his eyes.

Just then, Rea playfully nudged him and grinned. "Dear Young Master Cumberland, which room am I staying in?" She then blocked Clara from his view.

Ian stunned for a while before chuckling and affectionately tapping her nose. Then, he pulled her into his arms and said, "What do you mean which room? Of course, you’re staying in mine."