No Strings Attached

Chapter 258

The video had been taken in a hotel room in France, where Ian had been set up that night.

Inebriated, he lay sprawled on the bed, unconscious, but every time Helena tried to get close to him, he deftly avoided her advances. Throughout the whole charade, not once did their skin even graze each other.

The entire scene was nothing but a farce orchestrated by Helena herself. So Elle had been right all along. The case involving Ian was all about pulling her from the depths of despair.

Yet, it had cost him a fortune.

Accustomed to a life of luxury, Ian had spent over a fortnight in a dank, dreary cell, even subjected to the pecking order established by his tough jail inmates.

He had stooped so low, all to see her rise again.

She had to admit that without this case involving Ian, regaining her former glory would have taken at least six months, and as time passed, the industry might have forgotten her, sealing her fate. Exclusive content © by Nô(v)el/Dr/ama.Org.

Watching this, Clara's eyes brimmed with tears. She quickly shut down her computer and dashed for the door.

At that moment, her heart blazed with a longing for love, just as it had three years prior on that fateful night.

Disregarding the pouring rain outside, her slight figure plunged into the misty downpour, all to see that man just a moment sooner, to throw herself into his arms.

Ian was sitting up in bed, poring over some documents, when he heard the door burst open. He looked up immediately.

Clara stood before him, completely drenched with water dripping down her face. Her eyes were bloodshot as she gazed at him.

A pang of concern tightened Ian's chest, and he quickly approached her. His large hand brushed her forehead as he asked, "What's wrong? There was an umbrella in the car; why did you run through the rain?" Sensing something amiss, he grabbed a towel and began to dry her hair while he looked down at her with tender eyes.

Clara simply watched him, her lips quivering from the cold, her voice raspy. "Ian, that case in France... you set it up, didn't you?"

Ian paused for a moment but soon understood her meaning.

He carefully wiped the rain from Clara's face, his voice soft. "I didn't set it up. I just knew beforehand that they were plotting against me, and I walked into their trap on purpose."

Clara bit her lip. "You had evidence to prove your innocence. Why did you need my help?"

"Because I wanted them to see just how formidable my Clara is. I wanted to teach them a lesson, that's all," he explained, stroking her cheek, never once boasting about his own role in the victory.

Overwhelmed by the tenderness in his eyes, Clara couldn't hold back any longer. She grabbed Ian's collar, stood on her tiptoes, and pressed her lips to his.

It was the first time Clara had ever initiated a kiss; frankly, she had no idea how to be the aggressor. Her kisses were awkward and clumsy, and more than once, she accidentally bit Ian's tongue.

After a few minutes, Ian took control, his hands cradling her head as he kissed her, leading her into the bathroom. Piece by piece, he peeled off her soaking clothes and gently placed her into the warm bath.

Clara looked up at him like a nymph fresh on the scene, seductively shy. Her voice was a husky lure that made Ian's heart quiver.

"Ian, can I be on top?"

Her words sparked a fire that spread like wildfire, consuming them both.

Time passed, and eventually, Clara felt too worn out and fell asleep on the bed. Ian sat beside her, a satisfied smile on his face, drying her hair and watching her with lowered eyes.

The barriers between them had finally crumbled. His Clara had come back to him.

A week later, Ian was discharged from the hospital, just in time for Rose's birthday banquet. The celebration was held at the old family estate, and guests were aplenty.

Rose, lively as ever, greeted her guests in a vibrant red dress that harkened back to the elegance of a bygone era.