Chapter 224 Chapter 0223

Chapter 224 Chapter 0223
Clark was dead asleep when his phone started vibrating aggressively against the nightstand.  
A groan. A slow inhale. A delayed reaction before his hand finally reached out, fumbling blindly until his fingers closed around the device.  
He cracked one eye open. Too bright. Too soon.  
The caller ID: Masahiro.  
Clark exhaled through his nose, pressing the phone to his ear as he collapsed back onto the mattress.  
"Payne," he muttered, voice rough, thick with exhaustion.  
"Clark," Masahiro’s voice was as crisp as ever. No trace of sleep, no pleasantries. "Cassidy was moved to the detention facility this morning."  
Clark barely processed the words before rubbing a hand down his face.  
"Great," he muttered, blinking up at the ceiling. "I was planning on heading to the station today. Need to go over a few things with you and Arthur."  
"Fine," Masahiro said, as if he already expected it. "I'll be waiting."  
Clark barely grunted before hanging up.  
Silence.  
And then—awareness hit.  
His body felt wrecked.  
Every inch of his skin felt too tight, too raw. The ache sat deep in his muscles, the kind that came from too much alcohol, too little restraint, and too many bad decisions.  
Clark exhaled slowly, forcing himself upright. The mess came into focus.  
Sheets half-pulled off the mattress. Clothes abandoned across the floor. The lingering scent of whiskey, sweat, and something far less dignified.  
His gaze drifted toward the empty spot beside him.  
Gone.  
Not that it mattered.  
Clark swung his legs over the side of the bed, pushing himself up. He winced. Sore.  
Ignoring the stiffness in his limbs, he stretched lazily, completely unbothered by his own nudity. He needed water.  
He barely made it down the hallway before he realized he wasn’t alone.  
Clark stopped.  
Adam was sitting at the kitchen table.  
Coffee in hand.  
Casual, at ease.  
Clark blinked.  
Adam looked up.  
They stared at each other for a long moment.  
Then—a slow, amused smirk.  
"Morning, lawyer boy."  
Clark inhaled sharply, \`Right. Babysitter. ´
He had forgotten.  
Without saying a word, he moved toward the fridge, yanked it open, and pulled out a bottle of water.  
Adam didn’t look away.  
Didn’t even pretend to.  
His gaze flickered—taking in Clark’s bare back, the faint bruises along his shoulders, the darkened hickeys on his collarbone.  
Something about the sight made Adam’s smirk falter just slightly.  
This was Clark?  
The same sharp, calculated lawyer who once stood across from him in court, pushing for a conviction?  
Now standing naked, exhausted, hungover—marked up and carelessly unbothered.  
Adam let out a low hum.  
"Didn’t think you were the type to get manhandled, counselor."  
Clark didn’t even blink.  
Didn’t acknowledge the comment.  
He just twisted off the cap and tilted his head back, drinking deeply.  
Adam leaned back in his chair, his smirk returning.  
"You always that loud, or was last night special?"  
Clark ignored him.  
Another long drink of water, the cool sensation dulling the worst of his hangover.  
Adam’s gaze flickered again. The bruising wasn’t just casual. The marks weren’t just light touches—they were rough, deliberate.  
Something about it made Adam feel… off.  

Not pity. Not concern.  
Just off.  
Clark set the bottle down, fingers lazily gripping the rim.  
Adam’s voice was casual, but the amusement had faded just slightly.  
"How’s it feel?"  
Clark finally looked at him, expression unreadable.  
"How does what feel?"  
Adam motioned vaguely.  
"Whatever the hell you’re trying to drink yourself out of."  
Clark exhaled through his nose.  
Then rolled his shoulders.  
"Like a waste of conversation."  
Adam huffed out a quiet chuckle.  
"Right. That’s why you look like you lost a fight with someone’s teeth."  
Clark’s fingers twitched against the bottle.  
Not a reaction. Not quite.  
He grabbed the bottle and moved past Adam without another word.  
Adam watched him go, his smirk fading completely now.  
Something about this felt wrong.  
Not the sex. Not the drinking. Not even the reckless behavior.  
Just… Clark.  
There was no restraint.  
No control.  
Just a man burning himself down from the inside.  
Clark reached his bedroom door, tossing a glance over his shoulder.  
"We’re leaving in fifteen."  
Adam didn’t answer.  
Just watched the door close behind him.  
Clark stepped into the shower, hot water cascading down his skin, washing away the remnants of the night.  
The aches, the soreness, the lingering scent of sweat and whiskey—all of it faded.  
He didn’t rush.  
Didn’t indulge either.  
Just stood under the spray, letting the heat loosen the tension in his muscles, clearing his head.  
By the time he stepped out, steam curled around him in soft, ghostly waves.  
A fresh suit was waiting. Beige. Crisp. Tailored.  
He slid into it without hesitation—the precise, methodical motions of a man putting on armor.  
White shirt. Black leather shoes. Tie, adjusted to perfection.  
He combed his hair back, every strand in place. Slipped on his glasses, adjusting them just slightly.  
Then, briefcase in hand, he left the room.  
Meanwhile, Adam wasn’t expecting much.  
He had just seen Clark bare, bruised, reckless, and half-drunk—fresh off a night of self-destruction.  
He had watched the man stumble through the kitchen without a single ounce of dignity.  
So, when Clark stepped out of his bedroom, polished, precise, untouchable…  
Adam blinked.  
Once.  
Twice.  
His gaze flickered—a split-second comparison.  
The man from last night, moaning against someone else’s mouth—  
Bent over, grasping, gasping, no restraint.  
And now?  
Now he stood there, flawless. Like nothing had ever touched him. Like the night before didn’t exist.  
The scent of expensive cologne and freshly pressed fabric filled the space, sharp and clean.  
Clark straightened his cufflinks, expression unreadable.  
Adam didn’t say a word.  
Didn’t smirk.  
Didn’t tease.  
Just watched.  
Because, for the first time, it hit him.  
This wasn’t just about a man who liked to drink.  
Or to have sex.  
Or self-destruct.  
This was a man who knew exactly how to erase himself.  
To become whoever the world expected him to be.  
Adam exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw, still watching as Clark strode past him—briefcase in hand, shoulders squared, eyes sharp.  
Like he hadn’t been a complete mess minutes ago.  
Like he hadn’t been a different man entirely.  
Clark didn’t spare him a glance.  
Just walked toward the door.  
"We’re leaving."  
Adam finally pushed off the counter.  
Shook his head slightly.  
Followed.  
They left the apartment, taking the stairs as usual. No elevator.  
Adam didn’t bother fighting it anymore. Some battles weren’t worth the effort.  
Clark moved ahead, flawless and put together, like the wrecked mess of a man from this morning had never existed. The suit was pristine, the glasses polished, his posture straight.  
Adam watched, vaguely unsettled. How the hell did he do that?  
They reached the car.  
"Where to?" Adam asked, sliding behind the wheel.  
"Masahiro’s office."  
Adam pulled onto the road.  
The ride was quiet, the low hum of the engine the only sound between them. Clark barely looked up from his phone, scrolling through emails, focused, indifferent.  
Then—he spoke.  
"Pull over somewhere. I need to eat."  
Adam flicked him a glance. "I’ll grab you somethin’."  
Clark finally looked at him, brow raised. "Why would you do that?"  
Adam’s grip on the wheel tightened slightly. "Because you’re a walking target. If someone shows up while you’re out there, that’s a problem."  
Clark leaned back, exhaling sharply. "And if someone shows up while I’m sitting here?"  
Adam clicked his tongue. "Then we go together."  
Clark huffed, but didn’t argue.  
Adam pulled into the parking lot of a small café.  
Inside, Clark approached the counter, scanning the menu.  
He ordered black coffee.  
That was it.  
Adam stared at him, unimpressed.  
"That’s not food, lawyer boy."  
Clark didn’t even glance at him. "Works fine for me."  
Adam scoffed. "Yeah, sure. Because caffeine is exactly what your hungover ass needs."  
Clark ignored him.  
And then—  
A hand.  
Gripping his ass.  
Hard.  
Too familiar. Too bold.  
Clark didn’t react immediately.  
A pause. A shift in his posture.  
Then—a smile.  
A forced one.  
Adam’s body tensed. His instincts kicked in, already moving—  
Then he heard it.  
A voice. Low, amused.  
"Still tight, huh? Miss me?"  
Adam froze.  Clark’s shoulders stiffened.  
The stranger leaned in, lips way too close to Clark’s ear.  
"Or did someone else get a taste this time?"  
Clark’s jaw twitched, but his expression didn’t crack.  
Recognition. He knew this guy.  
And not in a way he wanted to acknowledge in public.  
Clark let out a slow breath, tilting his head slightly. "Careful. You're in public."  The stranger chuckled, his fingers brushing up Clark’s back before finally letting go.  
"Didn’t stop you before."  
Adam didn’t hesitate this time.  
He stepped between them, cutting off whatever bullshit game this was.  
The stranger blinked up at him, not startled, just amused.  
"Big guy," the man mused, looking Adam up and down. "Didn’t know you liked them this size, Clark."  
Clark forced another thin, polite smile.  
"He’s my bodyguard."  
The man’s smirk didn’t fade.  
"That so?" He let his gaze trail over Adam again, slow, assessing. "Well. Can’t say I blame you. If you’re gonna have someone watching your back, might as well have someone who could throw you over a table, too."  
Adam’s patience snapped.  
He stepped forward, deliberately into the guy’s space. Just enough.  
The man stilled, amusement flickering just slightly.  
Not fear.  
Not quite.  
But awareness.  
Adam let the weight of his gaze settle, voice flat, edged.  
"You done?"  
The man’s smirk twitched, but he backed off.  
Clark grabbed his coffee, turning to Adam as if nothing had happened.  
"Let’s go."  
Adam moved without hesitation, following Clark toward the exit.  
But as they walked away, he could feel the weight of eyes on him.  
And when he glanced back—  
The stranger was still watching.  
Still smirking.  
And that?  
That didn’t sit right with Adam at all.