CHAPTER 98: I DON’T MIND MY BRIDE BEING A LITTLE VIOLENT.

Rowan was driving. Alice sat in the backseat and leaned against the window. Her mind was full, but her mouth stayed closed. She could feel Rowan’s glances, knew he was curious about her conversation with Hardy, and probably far more than that considering all that had happened today.

But to his credit, he didn’t ask.

She was grateful for the silence. But then, silence always made thoughts run wilder.

"Where are the others?" she asked quietly, her voice just loud enough to break the oppressive silence.

Rowan kept his eyes on the road. "Boss and Milo left earlier. Gavin’s tied up right now. I’ll go back and get him after dropping you off."

"I see." She nodded, though her thoughts were already elsewhere, drifting back to everything that had happened today.

"Is there anything you’d like to eat?" Rowan asked, his tone neutral, perhaps a touch too carefully casual, as if treading on thin ice.

She shook her head. "No. I’m fine."

She wanted to sleep. She felt tired. Exhausted. Sick.

Note: do not actively participate in a wellness event when you are unwell.

Rowan tapped the steering wheel lightly. Then he cleared his throat. "You did well today."

She looked over at him.

"I mean... the race. And also—Miss Clarkson. She had it coming. Honestly, if the boss had seen that, he would’ve been proud."

He was rambling at this point, probably to fill up the silence too.

"Proud," she echoed flatly, a bitter taste in her mouth. "Because you all get off on violence?"

Rowan’s expression didn’t change when he responded. "No. Not like that. It’s... different."

"How so?" Alice challenged, her gaze unwavering. She was tired of the evasions, the half-truths that defined this world.

But more than that, she was angry at herself for wanting to get involved in it. Wanting to know what was happening with them. With him.

He hesitated, clearly weighing his words. "Boss has reasons for what he does. Always."

Her gaze didn’t waver, piercing through his practiced calm. "What was his reason for stabbing Vik? For also beating up Dawin to the point of death?"

Rowan opened his mouth, then closed it again, a surprising flicker of discomfort crossing his face. Then, reluctantly, almost a murmur, "I usually wouldn’t say anything, but... the boss hadn’t done that. Well, yes. He had met Dawin. But what happened to Dawin later... that wasn’t his handiwork." Rowan’s voice was low.

Alice looked at him, her eyes narrowing as if deciding whether to believe him or not. She didn’t speak, just looked out the window as the car arrived Block C parking.

After the car stopped, she got down and murmured, "Thank you."

Rowan looked puzzled, probably wondering what she was thanking him for.

Rowan followed but got ahead to open the door for her. "You sure you don’t want anything to eat? I promise I will make something not porridge."

She shook her head again, "We all had a busy day. You should also take a break." She said in a genuine tone.

"My job is to make sure you’re okay and live comfortably here." He said as he opened the door for her to go in.

To live comfortably here?

He had definitely heard her say she wanted to move back to Block A this morning.

"I’ll be fine for now. I’ll take a nap." She said, looking so exhausted as she made her way towards the stairs.

As she turned toward the hallway leading to her room, she nearly collided with a tall figure rounding the corner. The young lady stepped back lightly, heels clicking softly against the polished floor.

"Oh," the young lady said with a pleasant smile. "Miss Boss."

Alice blinked. The lady was tall, early or mid-thirties perhaps, dressed in black slacks and a crisp silk shirt. Her makeup was minimal but clean, and her expression was... normal. Refreshingly normal.

Alice recognized her. The fourth of Hades’s ’henchmen’.

"We’ve met before," the lady continued before Alice could respond. "Sort of. I’m Clarisse. Welcome to Block C."

Alice nodded slowly. "Right. Thank you."

Clarisse smiled again, easy and professional. "I hope the idiot boys haven’t been too much of a headache."

Rowan, behind Alice, scoffed. "Wow. That’s how you greet me after ghosting?"

Clarisse turned her head slightly. "I didn’t ghost. I left to get a life. You should try it sometime."

Rowan smirked. "I have a life."

"Sure you do," Clarisse deadpanned.

Clarisse gave Alice a once-over, her eyes falling on the medals still hanging around her neck. "Congrats, by the way."

Alice blinked again, then offered a small, reserved smile. "Thanks."

There was something disarming about Clarisse. She didn’t seem nosy, or dangerous or too secretive. Just... normal. Alice hadn’t realized how rare that felt in this building.

"You okay?" Clarisse asked gently, picking up on Alice’s distant energy.

Alice shrugged faintly. "Yeah."

"If you’re looking for the boss, he’s not in right now," Clarisse added. "Went out earlier."

Alice gave the faintest nod. "Okay." She didn’t care about that.

Clarisse studied her for another beat, then didn’t push further. "Well, I’m around if you ever need a break from the cryptic silence in this Block."

Rowan coughed in mock offense, and Clarisse glared at him.

Alice muttered a quiet thanks again and headed up to her room, the thought of sleep a sudden, overwhelming comfort.

The moment the door closed behind her, she exhaled. The quiet pressed in like fog. Her medals clinked softly as she slumped onto the edge of the bed, fingers fumbling with her shoelaces. Every muscle ached. Her skin buzzed with residual adrenaline and dread.

Part of her wanted to crawl back to Block A.

But after today... after Dawin’s smugness and the way the Matriarch had looked at her like a stain... she was rethinking everything.

Still, staying here felt like sleeping with one eye open.

She didn’t remember when her eyes shut—only that she’d lain staring at the ceiling, playing and replaying the day’s chaos, until the chaos played her.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The sound jarred her awake.

The sun was gone. The room now bathed in shadow. Her head throbbed; dull and insistent. Her hand too. She needed painkillers.

Groggy, disoriented, and still in the oversized shirt she’d collapsed into, Alice dragged herself to the door without checking who it was. She didn’t care.

Her hand fumbled with the knob, her vision still unfocused until the light from the hallway poured in. And standing there was...

Hades.

Her eyes narrowed instinctively, a mix of suspicion and ingrained wariness.

His gaze swept over her, dark and unreadable. Then, slowly, his hand came up, and before she could recoil or speak or ask what the hell, he cupped her face. His palm was broad, calloused, fitting perfectly against her cheek.

Her breath caught, a silent gasp. His touch was firm, but not rough. Warm. Intentional. And then, he leaned in, pressing their foreheads together.

Alice’s eyes widened in silent shock. He simply stood there, holding her face, their skin touching, sharing breath.

"You’re still sick," he murmured. His voice was low. Heavy. Like thunder on the verge of breaking.

It hit her that he was checking her temperature.

But it felt like so much more.

Her lips parted. "What... what are you doing?"

Her voice was hoarse. Barely a whisper. It wasn’t even angry. It was confused.

He didn’t answer.

Just stood there, forehead to forehead, like this was normal. Like he was normal.

His thumb brushed her cheekbone, soft and fleeting, then he pulled back. The contact broke, but the aftershock didn’t.

"Doctor’s coming," he said curtly.

Reality snapped back like an elastic band.

She recoiled, shoving his hand away as if waking from a dream. Her eyes flared with disbelief. "Didn’t I tell you to stay away from me?"

He ignored her. Of course he did. He stepped inside, pushing the door open wider, his eyes scanning the room like he owned it.

Well, technically, it was his place.

"The Clarksons won’t trouble you for today," he said, brushing past her mess, her scattered shoes, the tangled blankets.

Alice turned slowly, eyes narrowed in alarm and outrage. "What did you do?" Her voice was sharper now, frayed at the edges.

He made himself at home on the couch across her bed, legs crossed, one arm slung over the backrest. A king in exile.

"Didn’t you annoy the Clarkson girl because you knew I’d clean up your mess?" he asked, casually. His gaze pinned her.

Alice bristled. "Excuse me?"

"You did it because you knew I’d back you," he said, voice low and certain. "Even if you didn’t admit it to yourself."

Her mouth opened to argue, but the words didn’t come.

She paused. She had splashed a drink over Linda’s face in public and thrown their key down and called it cheap. It was something Aurora would have never done. Something she, Alice, would never do after learning her lesson and getting arrested and blacklisted.

But she had done it.

She neither trusted the Malays nor the Wildfire elders to come to her aid. So... why had she done it? Boldly.

The thought that he might be right made her internally panic.

His eyes glittered with something unreadable. Amusement? Approval?

"I don’t mind my bride being a little... violent," he added, that glint deepening into something darker. Something excited.

That snapped her out of it.

"First of all, you’re... deranged," she snapped, jabbing a trembling finger at the door. "Second, get out of my room."

He shook his head slowly like a rebellious kid. "That won’t do." He lifted a hand like he was dismissing her tantrum. "Sit. I’ll chat with you until the doctor arrives."

The arrogance was absolute. Inevitable.

The message was clear.

He wasn’t leaving.