Chapter 733: Drunk Naughty Claire

Yelena, on the other hand, was anything but quiet.

She leaned back in her chair, one leg crossed over the other, her dark eyes flicking between Claire and me with a smirk that promised trouble. "You’re both so tense," she purred, her voice dripping with amusement.

"Like a couple of wound-up springs. Or maybe just wound up in general." She let out a low, throaty laugh, her fingers tapping idly against the table.

"Claire, dorogaya, you look like you’re about to snap." Her gaze slid to me, slow and deliberate, like a caress.

Claire exhaled, running a hand through her hair. "It’s been a long day."

"Mmm, I’ll say," Yelena hummed, her lips curling into a smirk. She stood, stretching like a cat, her body arching just enough to make it clear she knew exactly what she was doing.

"But you know what they say about stress, yes?" She stepped closer, her hips swaying with every movement, her fingers trailing along the back of my chair. "The best way to relieve it is exercise together."

Claire’s jaw clenched, but she didn’t look up.

Yelena’s smirk deepened as she leaned in, her breath warm against my ear. "Or maybe you just need a distraction," she murmured, her voice a velvet whisper.

"Something to take your mind off things." Her fingers brushed against my shoulder, slow and deliberate, before sliding down my arm. "Or someone."

"Hmm?" She tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Just offering, solnyshko (Sweetheart)," she purred, her voice dropping into something darker, something that sent a shiver down my spine. "You look like you could use it."

Claire’s fingers twitched against the table, but she still didn’t look up.

Yelena’s laughter was soft, knowing. She stepped back, her gaze sliding to Claire. "Or maybe she’s the one who needs it," she said, her voice teasing but edged with something sharper.

"You’ve been avoiding him all night, Claire. Like he’s going to bite." She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Or maybe you’re just afraid he will."

Claire’s head snapped up, her eyes burning with something raw and furious. "Shut up, Yelena."

Yelena just grinned, unfazed. "Or what?" she taunted, her voice light. "You’ll shoot me?" She laughed, stepping back with a flourish. "Please. We both know you’d miss."

Claire’s breath hitched, but she didn’t deny it.

Yelena’s gaze slid back to me, her smirk turning wicked. "You know," she said, her voice dropping into something slower, something that felt like a promise, "if you ever get tired of playing the knight in shining armor..." She leaned in again, her lips brushing against my ear as she whispered, "My door is always unlocked."

Then she pulled back, her laughter ringing through the warehouse as she sauntered away, her hips swaying with every step.

Claire’s fingers curled into fists on the table.

I exhaled, my pulse still racing.

Yelena turned back, her smirk never fading. "Let me tell you a secret," she said, her voice dripping with amusement. "She’s divorced." She stepped closer, her fingers brushing against my arm again. "Her husband was a professor. Very smart. Very boring." Her lips curled into a smirk. "And very unfaithful."

Claire’s breath hitched, but she didn’t react.

Yelena’s voice dropped into something softer, something almost sympathetic. "She came home early from a mission once. Found him in their bed with one of his students." She shook her head, her expression darkening for just a second. "Men like that don’t deserve women like her."

Then her smirk returned, her voice turning teasing again. "But you?" She leaned in, her gaze locking onto mine. "You might have a chance." She stepped back, her laughter ringing through the air. "If you can keep up."

Claire finally looked at me, her expression unreadable.

Yelena winked. "Or, if you can’t hold out..." She gestured toward the hallway, her voice dropping into something darker. "My room is unlocked." Then she laughed, stepping away with a chuckle. "Just kidding."

But the way she looked at me made it clear she wasn’t.

Not entirely.

I reached out to SERA, my mind racing.

Confirm: Claire Starling’s marital status.

SERA’s response was instant.

Claire Starling was married to Dr. Daniel, a professor at Georgetown University. Divorced 18 months ago.

Reason: Infidelity on Dr. Daniel’s part. Claire was deployed for extended periods. He cheated. She filed. No contest.

My stomach twisted.

Claire sat at the table, her fingers wrapped around the bottle of vodka like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. She didn’t look at me. Didn’t speak. Just poured another glass, her movements sharp and unsteady, the liquid sloshing over the rim as she lifted it to her lips. Again. And again.

I watched from the doorway, my chest tight.

She wasn’t just drinking.

She was drowning.

I stepped forward, my hand closing over the glass as she poured another shot. "Claire," I said, my voice firm but gentle. "I think you’ve had enough."

She didn’t look at me. "What do you care?" she slurred, her voice raw and bitter. "Go to Yelena. She might still be awake." Her fingers tightened around the bottle, her knuckles white. "She’s better at this than I am."

"Claire, you’re drunk," I said, my voice low.

"No," she snapped, her eyes finally flicking to mine, wild and glistening. "I want to drink more. More. More." She tried to yank the glass from my grip, but I didn’t let go.

"Let me take you to your room," I said, my voice steady.

She didn’t move. Just glared at me, her breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. "I don’t need you to take care of me."

I exhaled, my patience wearing thin. "Claire—"

"I said no!" she snapped, her voice cracking.

I didn’t argue.

Instead, I stepped closer, my arms sliding around her before she could protest. She was lighter than I expected, her body tense as I lifted her against my chest. She didn’t fight me.

Didn’t struggle. Just went limp, her head falling against my shoulder as I carried her toward the room Yelena had set up for her.

The hallway was dim, the air thick with the weight of everything unsaid. Claire’s breath was warm against my neck, her fingers clutching at my shirt like she was afraid I’d let her go.

When I lay her down on the bed, her face was flushed—bright red, like a tomato. I couldn’t tell if it was from the alcohol or something else. Shame, maybe. Vulnerability.

She didn’t let go of me.

Her arms wrapped around my wrist, her grip tight. "Don’t go to that, Yelena," she slurred, her voice thick with something raw. "I can—I can also do what she can do."