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"My name?"
"Yes, what's your name?"
I think about all the reasons why I want to remain anonymous for just a few more minutes when a voice speaks up behind it.
"Clarissa. Her name is Clarissa Masters."
Chapter 4
Matthias
Dealingwiththeaftermathof the women who'd accused me of knocking them up has been utter hell. Meeting after freaking meeting trying to figure out how to rehabilitate my so-called manwhore reputation. So, when I receive Leanne's text asking if I want to come have a drink at her place, I'm only too happy to accept the invitation instead of going back to the office.
Kevin, my driver, lets me out and I walk the five blocks to her apartment, not sure what to expect when I get there. Leanne is known for rarely having a quiet night in her own apartment. In fact, I'm sure I've been there multiple times when she wasn't even there.
I can't help wondering what her neighbors must think. Not that it matters. I own the building, which is how I met her in the first place.
As usual, when I enter her open apartment, she is nowhere to be seen. I recognize a few people and chat for a few minutes, before someone points to the drinks trolley near the window and offers to get me a drink. I excuse myself from the conversation to get the drink myself.
And run into someone I never expected... and had hoped…never to see again.
My brother's ex-fiancée.
She's talking to a guy, who looks like he's ready to crawl onto his hands and knees and do whatever she asks. I've seen the look before. On the face of pretty much every man who comes into contact with her. Except Damien.
What is she even doing here?
I'd heard she'd moved to the USA, but I'm surprised I haven't heard anything about her living in New York City. Because wherever Clarissa is, she makes sure that everyone knows she's there.
She's dressed in a pair of white silk pants that make her legs look like they go on for days, and a sleeveless satin shirt with a ruffle running down the front. Her hair is perfectly curled, falling around her face like she'd moved each strand into place. As usual, she looks perfectly put together. The only thing that stands out as different about her is that she's not blinding me with diamonds on every surface of her skin.
At least she's toned down that part of her outfit.
I take a step closer out of pure curiosity, working out how long it's been since I last saw her.
Seven months, give or take. Since the day I went with Damien and my other younger brother, Kylian, to her apartment to tell her that he was calling off the engagement.
It had turned out just as we expected, with an array of vases, shoes and chinaware thrown at each of our heads.
We'd stayed with Damien there that night, as he'd sat outside her bedroom, making sure she was going to be okay before we left. As far as we'd heard, a week later, she got on a plane and hasn't been heard from since.
Good.
Good fucking riddance.
The sound of her giggling drifts over to where I'm standing by the drinks trolley, my back turned.
Ugh. Poor guy. He has no idea what the fuck he's getting himself into.
Surely, it's my role to help him out.
I take a step closer and hear him ask for her name.
Another step takes me into their circle, and I give the guy a big smile, just as he asks her name again.
"Clarissa. Her name is Clarissa Masters," I say, giving him the answer she seems reluctant to give him.
She turns to me, her pupils a whirlwind of recognition and anger. I forgot how beautiful she looks when she's brimming with fury. If nothing else Clarissa is a true beauty. Outward class and elegance. Turning heads wherever she goes. It's too bad it just masks the desperation and deception inside.
