Clara wanted to inform her fiancé that her facial blindness had finally healed. Yet, what she overheard stopped her in her tracks. Adrian and his friends were betting:
"Clara? Arranged by the family. I don't even like her."
"Whoever can pretend to be me and sleep with her, ruining this engagement, will get my sports car."
"Relax, she can't recognize faces."
A roomful of privileged young men brimmed with anticipation. Clara froze. Through the barely ajar door, her eyes met an unexpected scene: a young, beautiful classmate, exuding mischief, draped around Lucas Vane's neck, pressing a kiss onto him.
The onlookers cheered.
"Lucas, Clara will be here soon. Aren't you afraid she'll notice?"
"Afraid? Not the first time," Lucas replied with a rakish smile, his collar loosened. "She can't see anyway."
Clara lowered her gaze, intending to leave. Yet, lines of text suddenly floated before her eyes:
[The side character is making out with the male lead so passionately!]
[The female rival is eavesdropping! Annoying!]
[Too bad, he was just testing her, didn't really kiss!]
[Please, male lead, break off the engagement with the gold-digging side character! We want a sweet romance!]
A gold-digging side character? That's supposed to be me? Clara tried to process the scene. The stream claimed she was the "gold-digging rival," while the male lead, Lucas Vane, was her fiancé. Confusion clouded her mind.
Four years ago, her biological parents had reclaimed her to marry the heir of the Vane family. Lucas had suffered a car accident, likely leaving him disabled. Her parents, unable to send their adopted daughter, sent her instead. Initially, Clara accepted for the sake of the money.
Lucas's temperament was notoriously erratic. He disliked any touch, striking anyone who approached him—doctors included. Undeterred, Clara learned therapeutic massage techniques to aid his rehabilitation. Everyone expected that once he recovered, marriage would follow. Yet, he thanked the doctors, the nurses, even the cleaning staff—with generous red envelopes—but never her. Often, his words were cruel, his attitude disdainful. Clara believed her patience would eventually bring sweetness. Instead, the bitterness stretched on year after year.
The online barrage described the "sister treasure" as the true heroine—the male lead's childhood love—who had been abroad during Lucas's accident and had only recently returned. The narrative branded Clara as an unworthy rival. The comments hinted at scandalous plots, poisons, and manipulation, intensifying her disorientation.
A sudden warmth spread from her abdomen, slowly consuming her body. Alerts claimed the side character's "drug effect" was activating, orchestrated by a passionate second male lead, designed to provoke a reaction for the true heroine. Panic surged. Clara, grown in the countryside with strength and resilience, now felt utterly powerless. She hastily dialed her brother: "Help me…"
Her plea was cut short by his irritated voice:
"Clara, you know we're accompanying Baozhu to the Whitmore gala. Are you trying to get our attention deliberately?"
The call ended abruptly. Her phone dead, escape seemed impossible.
Then she remembered the rumors: the Whitmore heir had arrived in Haicheng, a prodigious Wall Street genius and gentleman of impeccable manners, still unmarried. Ambitious families coveted this union, including hers. Clarity slipping, she bit her lip to stay conscious, realizing she needed to leave immediately.
At the corridor's corner, another door opened. A tall figure emerged. Dim lights cast shadows across him, gradually revealing a face of stunning, icy beauty—like pale snow under a Tang dynasty moon, or the fleeting blue of twilight.
The streaming comments erupted again:
[Whoa! Who is that handsome man?]
[Male lead's roommate—poor yet noble, tragic yet alluring!]
Behind him, a wealthy woman chased after him, offering money. "Just agree, money isn't an issue."
Sebastian Kane's cold gaze swept over her. "Auntie, I'm expensive. You can't afford me."
Another man in a suit intervened, placating her:
"Madam Yao, please don't be upset. Our young master hasn't done this before."
Clara quickly assessed the players: a wealthy patron, a defiant model, and a procurer. Though Sebastian Kane was rude and arrogant, his beauty was undeniable. Acting decisively, she grasped his sleeve as they passed and whispered:
"I have money. How much to spend a night with you?"
The Whitmore heir, Sebastian Kane, blinked in surprise.
Clara feigned the poise of an experienced male model, yet the quiver in her voice betrayed the tension coiling within her. She had lived twenty-one years by the book—obedient, dutiful, endlessly accommodating. Her rare act of rebellion had been abandoning the final question on her college entrance exam, merely to attend the same school as Lucas Vane.
This fragile, anxious display did not escape Sebastian Kane's keen gaze. Leaning in, his lips curved with a subtle, almost mischievous smile:
"How much are you offering?"
Confronted by the sudden closeness of his striking face, Clara's wide, liquid eyes betrayed her confusion, unsure whether her racing pulse was the effect of the lingering drug or the sheer allure of him. The sharp pain from biting her lip had left her mind remarkably lucid. She pressed her dry lips together, intending to say a thousand, yet feeling unworthy, altered her offer: "Ten thousand?"
Ten thousand?
The words reached the ears of the assistant behind them, who felt her heart seize. The sky might as well have fallen. Was this girl drunk, or simply courting danger? She had not only mistaken Haicheng's princely heir for a model, but had also quoted an absurdly low price. The previous woman who attempted to drug the young master had spent millions bribing the staff, only to fail and end up committed.
Carefully, the assistant glanced at Madam Yao behind them, exhaling in relief—fortunately, she hadn't heard. With her fiercely protective nature, discovering her precious nephew valued so cheaply would have provoked an immediate uproar.
Just as the assistant prepared to intervene, Sebastian's voice cut through:
"Done."
The assistant froze. Had he gone mad, or was this a hallucination? Clara herself was stunned; so effortlessly had he accepted her offer. She had expected haggling, as one might do in a market.
Regret barely crossed her mind before a firm, inescapable grip seized her wrist. Sebastian led her to Madam Yao.
"This is my girlfriend," he said, his face wearing a half-smile of teasing authority. "Bao, introduce her."
Bao?
Clara's mind reeled. Was this the emotional "value" a model provided? She stammered, "Excuse me?"
"Call her Auntie," Sebastian stated with an air of undeniable certainty.
Clara internally winced at the audacity. Though Madam Yao was older, her appearance suggested she was exceptionally well-maintained. Yet here was Sebastian, using age as a provocation while playing the part of a servant—truly scandalous.
Meeting the woman's scrutinizing gaze, Clara whispered, "She's quite young… perhaps 'sister' would be more fitting."
Madam Yao's stern expression softened into a rare smile.
"No wonder he likes you, I like you myself. When you're free, come visit my home. My husband is seldom around, and I am terribly lonely."
Clara stiffened. Could this woman have such indiscriminate tastes? She swallowed hard, nodding vaguely, unwilling to appear impolite.
"Good child," Madam Yao said, increasingly pleased with her nephew's fiancée. She produced a card.
"Here's five hundred thousand. The code is six sixes. Consider it a gift for your first meeting."
Clara blinked. Had she been drugged, or was this an intoxicating hallucination? She had spent ten thousand to "spend the night" with Sebastian, and now, the wealthy, admiring patron offered her fifty times that sum? Growing up, she had never been gifted a free bottle of iced tea. Now, facing this miraculous windfall, reality seemed almost surreal.
A thought nearly escaped her lips: "Sister, I don't want to try anymore…"
Even the streaming comments were aghast:
[What? The side character not only freeloaded off the poor model, she earned forty-nine thousand?]
[Is this for real?]
[This girl is absurdly lucky! I want to play her role!]
[Where's the second male lead? He was supposed to force the side character, record it, and play it at her wedding!]
While Clara's mind swirled, Madam Yao departed, thoughtfully taking away the "madam of the house." When she regained focus, Sebastian had pulled her into a private suite.
The club, exclusive and luxuriously appointed, sat at the heart of Haicheng, renowned for its privacy. Even Clara, having visited with Lucas before, paused at the grandeur of this particular room. High ceilings soared above, and a pristine five-meter-tall window framed the city's glittering skyline, where modern towers and century-old mansions gleamed in harmonious splendor.
Sebastian reclined lazily on the sofa. Even without lighting, his long legs rested naturally apart, commanding attention. Clara's throat went dry, and she murmured, "This is the treatment reserved for the top tier?"
Silence held for a heartbeat, then a low chuckle emanated from him. He spread his arms, elbows resting on the sofa, the collar of his shirt loosened to reveal a flash of alabaster skin, radiant as fine porcelain. A cool blue light grazed his sculpted features, enhancing his already impeccable visage.
"Shall we test the skil