The Boy Who Tattooed My Name on His Chest novel Chapter 47

Only later did I learn that he was the mighty CEO of Grayson Corporation, while I was nothing more than a struggling performer trying to survive.

The difference in our status was so vast that I never dared to cross the line.

Until the night Marcus got drunk.

For once, his cold, distant eyes burned with an intensity I had never seen before.

As the last note of my song faded, he pushed through the crowd with long strides and trapped me against the wall.

Then, he kissed me—slowly, deliberately.

His lips were skilled, coaxing the strength out of my body until I collapsed against him.

Fireworks exploded in my mind.

Marcus, it was you who crossed the line first.

I was still lost in my memories when Marcus came to find me.

Seeing him approach, I eagerly picked up the white scarf I had knitted for him and held it out like a treasure.

"Marcus."

But he didn't even spare it a glance. With a flick of his wrist, the scarf landed on the floor.

Towering over me, he grabbed my chin and enunciated each word coldly.

"Clara Hope, don't touch Anna."

He hadn't come for me. He was here to stand up for her.

The haze in my mind cleared instantly. I struggled to turn my head and break free, but his grip remained firm.

"Marcus, when have I ever touched Anna? Maybe you should get your facts straight before making accusations!"

His hold on my chin tightened, sending a sharp sting through my skin.

He looked at me like a stranger, his gaze utterly indifferent. But just days ago, the owner of those same eyes had gazed at me with tenderness, whispering sweet nothings.

"Clara, I thought you were smart. We both got what we wanted."

"Anna is injured. She has no one to rely on. Don't bully her."

"She fell off that cliff to save me. Do you even understand what that means?"

Tears welled up in my eyes as I stared at him.

"It means you will never love anyone more than her."

He didn't care whether Anna had provoked me first.

All he cared about was that she never shed a single tear.

Before he left, he shot a disgusted look at the unfinished scarf on the ground and kicked it aside.

"Clumsy. Don't waste your time."

Yet, it was him who once told me he wanted a scarf knitted by my own hands—so he could always feel as if I was by his side.