8

Chapter 8

Stolen kiss

Clarissa’s pov

I wish the restroom doors hadn’t swung open yet.

I truly wish the angels could hear my silent cries and grant me the strength to break free from his grip.

But my wishes were useless. I’m so helpless right now.

Clinton’s hands were iron shackles around my arms; he was holding me so tight that it burned. His breath was hot and close as he fixed his head on kissing my neck; his voice was low and charged with a sick authority that made my stomach turn.

“Are you in for teasing, Clarissa? Because I’ll make you scream my name,” he hissed, each word coated in arrogance. “I’ll make you scream until you disgrace yourself in front of your classmates. And when they hear your scream, they’ll all rush in here… and see you naked… being fucked up by me.”

His tone wasn’t just threatening; it was final, like he’d already decided how this moment would end. I could feel his hands tracing under my gown, but I slapped them away.

My heartbeat thundered in my ears. Panic clawed at my chest.

I kept yanking my short dress down, pulling at the hem desperately.

His hands fought to raise it. My fingers shook. My skin felt fever-hot and cold at the same time.

Is this going to be the end?

“Let me go!” I shouted, my voice breaking, not because I was weak, but because fear had wrapped around my throat like a noose.

And just when I was about to give up because my head hurt and I was weak…

The door flung open with a force that rattled the hinges.

“Let go of her. Now.”

The voice was sharp and commanding. I turned my head and saw him; it was Damien.

For a moment, the world tilted. I could barely focus; the alcohol in my system blurred everything, but not enough to miss the cold fury carved into his face. It wasn’t just anger; it was the kind of dangerous stillness before a storm.

Of course he was angry. Why wouldn’t he be? I was too stubborn to listen.

Before I could explain, before I could say anything, Damien moved.

In one swift motion, he grabbed Clinton by the collar, yanked him away from me, and slammed him against the tiled wall. The crack of the impact echoed through the restroom. Clinton groaned, sliding to the floor, but Damien didn’t hesitate; he lifted him again and smashed the back of his head against the wall with brutal precision. Clinton yelled in pain.

My breath caught. But I think that’s what he deserves.

Damien turned to me briefly, his eyes scanning my face, my shaking hands. “I warned you about this, right? Are you okay? You’re safe now,” he said, his voice tight with restraint.

I nodded slowly. “Yes… thank you for coming to my rescue.” My words felt small; he ignored my appreciation completely.

But Damien had already turned back to Clinton, his temper no longer contained. He hauled him upright again, his knuckles turned white on the fabric of his shirt.

“What the hell did you do to her?” he demanded, his voice low but dangerous.

“Let me go. Don’t touch me,” Clinton snarled, but his bravado didn’t last.

Damien’s grip tightened. “Did you roofie her? She can’t even stand straight.”

Clinton smirked faintly, even under pressure. “I would’ve done that before you came in, and you wouldn’t even know. But I didn’t need to… I served her cocaine.”

The words hit me like a slap. My knees almost buckled.

Damien didn’t hesitate; his fist crashed into Clinton’s face. The sickening thud of the punch filled the air.

“You drugged her? That’s what you do to a woman?” Damien’s voice was raw with fury. “You have no shame.”

Clinton tried to twist away, but Damien held him fast.

“And you know what?” Damien continued, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Because you’ve done this, I’m going to show every single one of your classmates what a disgusting perv you are.”

With that, Damien dragged him toward the party hall.

I stumbled after them, using the wall for balance. My head was still spinning, the room tilting in waves, but I couldn’t look away. My thoughts tangled with confusion; one thing I understood was why Damien was fighting for me like this. I thought he didn’t care?

When we emerged into the hall, the air shifted instantly. All conversation stopped; all eyes were on us in shock and widened. Gasps followed us.

“I’ve never seen Damien this mad at anyone,” Emily whispered somewhere nearby.

Then, a quieter voice, Zara’s voice, as sharp with alarm. “What if he finds out we drugged her?”

My stomach dropped. What the heck are they talking about? I tried to think, but my head hurts.

“You said ‘we’?” Emily’s voice rose slightly, panic curling through it. “Zara, why didn’t you tell me anything? I’m your friend!”

Zara’s tone was casual, almost mocking. “Of course you’re my friend. And that means you’re part of it. Better get used to doing what I do.”

Emily’s panic deepened. “Shut up, Zara. Don’t talk. We all know Damien; he protects his reputation as a professor. He’s never going to make a real scene…”

Her words cut off as Damien shoved Clinton into the center of the room.

Clinton’s voice was desperate. “Don’t listen to him; anything he says isn’t true! He’s using my name to lie…”

Another punch. Damien’s fist connected again, harder this time.

“This is for drugging a defenseless girl,” Damien growled. He pulled his arm back for another hit, but Clinton’s voice cracked in surrender.

“Okay, okay! It’s true! I drugged her—Clarissa. But I wasn’t the only one.”

My heart stuttered.

Clinton’s finger rose, pointing straight toward Zara and Emily.

Zara’s face twisted in indignation. “It wasn’t me!”

Emily’s denial was frantic. “He’s lying! I didn’t do it! Zara did!”

Damien didn’t waste words. He strode to the drinks table, took two full glasses, and, without a pause, flung the contents onto both of them.

The liquid splashed over their faces and hair, their screams sharp and shrill.

“My eyes! It burns!” Emily cried.

“My dress! This is white, you bastard!” Zara shouted.

Damien’s voice was cold as steel. “If it wasn’t you, Emily, then you still stood beside someone who did. That makes you no better.”

Then, he turned to me. His eyes softened just slightly, but the edge in his voice remained. “You didn’t want trouble? Well, here’s trouble. Time to go home, Pokey.”

Wait, did he just call me that!?

He faced the crowd. “Listen…if any one of you undergraduates decides to play or so much as touches Clarissa Wang, you’ll answer to me. This is just the beginning. You don’t touch her. Not while I’m here, and not when I’m gone. I will hear about it.”

The room was silent. Murmuring filled the room.

I couldn’t stop staring at his face. That sharp jawline and the intensity in his eyes almost distracted me from the chaos around us. Almost.

And just then, without warning, he swept me off my feet, literally. My body lifted effortlessly into his arms, bridal style.

My heart jumped. My lips parted to speak, but he leaned close, his breath warm against my ear, sending shivers down my spine.

“You’ll have to explain all of this at home,” he murmured.

I clung to him instinctively, my head against his chest. Over his shoulder, I caught the venomous glare from Zara and Emily. Their eyes were daggers.

Behind us, Zara’s voice snapped. “This is all your fault, asshole,” she spat at Clinton, punctuating the words with a kick to his stomach. Emily followed, both of them storming out.

I smiled faintly to myself.

Damien carried me to his car, set me gently inside, and slid into the driver’s seat.

The drive was quiet. My head ached, but my curiosity was louder. I kept sneaking glances at him, watching the way the passing streetlights cut shadows across his face. His expression was unreadable and so cold, like a villain who’d just saved someone he wasn’t sure he should protect.

When we reached the house, I opened the door to step out, but he was already lifting me again.

“I can walk,” I protested softly.

He ignored me, carrying me inside and placing me carefully on the couch.

The silence stretched. It was unbearable.

“Talk to me, Damien. Are you angry at me? You can say it… Just don’t keep quiet.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he knelt, unbuckled my heels, and slid them off one by one. Sitting beside me, he opened his laptop and began typing, his focus elsewhere.

“Why did you come for me, Damien? I thought you didn’t care. Why do you always stay silent?”

For the first time, he looked at me fully. “I hope you’re okay. Are you hurt?” He didn’t wait for my answer. “If you’d listened to me, this wouldn’t have happened. Do you want me to talk to you?”

I bit my lip. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not about sorry. It’s about the way those guys look at you. You don’t seem to realize the effect you have. You should’ve been more careful, and you should’ve changed that dress.”

His protectiveness made my heart twist. I moved closer, closing the space between us until I could feel his breath.

“Do I have that effect on you too, Damien? Or…” I tilted my head, my gaze locking with his. “Are you jealous?”

Surprise flickered in his eyes.

Before he could speak, I cupped his jaw, pulling his face toward mine.

He began, “No, I…”

But I didn’t let him finish. My lips pressed to his.

And his eyes widened.