Chapter96 – You’re not alone
Clarissa blinked, surprised. But she didn’t resist.
They walked side by side toward the rear mountains, where he and Callum had been foraging for herbs before.
“Where are we going?” she asked, brushing a low branch aside.
“You’ll see.”
The forest was dense, its trees wild and tall, with thick underbrush that tangled easily at the ankles. But Atticus cleared a path ahead of her, shielding her from thorns and stray branches.
Not a single scratch landed on Clarissa’s delicate skin.
She watched the way he moved—how his shoulders had broadened, how his steps were careful yet confident, how every movement was now imbued with a quiet strength.
After about ten minutes of weaving through the dense forest, Atticus pushed aside the last cluster of bushes, and the space ahead finally opened up.
He held Clarissa by the waist and guided her through the thicket—then gently let her go.
"Atticus?" she murmured, slightly breathless.
Atticus smiled down at her, his voice low and teasing. “Look, sister.”
Clarissa followed his gaze—and in the next heartbeat, her eyes widened, lit with wonder.
Begonias.
Begonia blossoms blanketed the mountain slope, a wild, radiant sea of color—crimson, soft white, pale pink—petals opening fully under the kiss of the fading sun.
Her breath caught. “This is…”
“Begonias,” Atticus said simply. “You like them, don’t you?”
Clarissa turned to him, her voice soft. “How did you even find this place?”
Atticus’s lips curved into a mischievous smile. “The scent led me. I recognized it right away.”
He looked out over the blooming hillside, his voice deepening with a subtle warmth. “They shouldn’t be in bloom this time of year. But look at them—so full, so bright. It’s like they bloomed just for you.”
Clarissa’s heart skipped. She looked at the boy—no, the young man—standing in front of her. His smile was charming, too knowing. She dropped her gaze in a hurry, attempting to anchor herself in reason.
“You’re talking nonsense,” she said lightly. “It’s the climate and the soil. Nothing more.”
Atticus tilted his head. “So... do you like it? Are you happy?”
Clarissa’s eyes swept across the begonia-covered hillside again, luminous and wild—far more breathtaking than anything cultivated. Nature’s masterpiece.
For a moment, she was too stunned to speak.
Then Atticus stepped closer, his presence brushing against her back. He leaned in, his voice a low murmur, his breath hot against her ear.
“Sister… why are you so quiet? Don’t you like it?”
The heat of his body, the closeness—it made her shiver. But she didn’t move away.
“I like it,” she whispered. “Thank you, Atticus.”
She turned to him, and the soft evening wind lifted strands of their hair, catching light like silk.
The sun dipped lower, bleeding red and gold through the clouds, casting its glow across the elegant contours of Atticus’s face. The fire in the sky danced in his eyes, highlighting the dark red teardrop mole beneath one of them—like a single, blooming petal… or blood.
Clarissa couldn’t look away.
And Atticus? He was watching her just as intently, as if no other sight in the world mattered.
His voice, when he spoke, was barely more than a breath. “If you like them, then one day I’ll plant begonias everywhere we live… so you can see them all the time. Just for you.”
Clarissa blinked. Her throat tightened. The words slipped out before she could stop them. “…Okay.”
Atticus reached for her hand and laced his fingers with hers, the warmth of his palm grounding and magnetic.
“I’ll stay with you,” he said softly. “You’re not alone. You never will be again. So… don’t cry over mon anymore, alright?”
Forget the past. Forget the pain. Let her world be filled only by him.
His voice wrapped around her like a spell. He leaned in closer.
Their faces were just inches apart now—close enough to feel the heat of his breath, to see the shadows dancing in his gaze.
But before he could close the distance, Clarissa snapped out of the trance and tapped him sharply on the forehead.
“You’re doing it again,” she scolded gently. “Be good—and call me sister.”
......
Time flew by. In the blink of an eye, three years had passed.
This year, Atticus was about to turn eighteen.
Clarissa had planned to wrap up her work early and spend the entire day celebrating with him. But just as she was finalizing things, an unexpected call came from the Lancaster family.
Lyra and Dorian were finally getting married.
Clarissa glanced at the date. Right—this was about the time they had set.
Her first instinct was to politely decline, but the Lancaster family was persistent.
“Clarissa, please come,” Ophelia’s voice came through the phone, warm. “It’s been so many years. You and your sister should let go of old grudges. Lyra truly wants your blessing. And as mother… it’s what I’ve been hoping for too.”
Clarissa exhaled slowly. “Fine,” she agreed at last. “But I’ll leave that night. I’m not staying.”
Ophelia was disappointed but didn’t push. “Alright. Whatever makes you comfortable.”
Over the years, Ophelia had tried everything to mend the rift between her daughters—but the wounds hadn’t fully healed.
“I’ll have a dress sent to you then?” she offered.
“No need. I’ll pick one myself,” Clarissa replied, her thoughts already drifting. She still had to find the perfect gift for Atticus anyway.
“Okay,” Ophelia agreed. “Your call.”
After hanging up, Clarissa rubbed her temple, then dialed Atticus.
He picked up quickly, his voice deep and smooth. “It’s okay,” he said after hearing her explanation. “I just landed anyway.”
Relief softened her features.
Atticus had been keeping busy. Though enrolled at a university in S City, he was also pursuing a second degree—economics and psychology. Phoenix’s influence had clearly rubbed off on him. Like her, he’d completed a full curriculum in less than two years. Recently, he’d spent three months abroad with her for a special program.
Clarissa hadn't seen him in quite some time. And now, even on his birthday, she was showing up late.
Guilt tugged at her.
“Atticus,” she said, “why don’t you come with me? We’ll leave together afterward. I think Phoenix will be there too.”
At the airport, Atticus stood tall in a sleek black coat, sunglasses covering half of his face. Even with his features partially hidden, he turned heads. Women whispered. Men glanced. That kind of beauty was hard to ignore.
Hearing Clarissa’s voice, his lips curved lazily. “It’s fine. I don’t care for that kind of party. You go, sister. Master already gave me her gift before she left.”
“She’s not going?”
“Nope. Something came up. Might take a while. Which means”—he added with a smirk—“you can say goodbye to your ex-fiancé properly.”
Clarissa rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve got nothing to do with Dorian anymore.”
Still, Phoenix’s absence surprised her. Lately, she had climbed ranks fast, solving some of the family’s most difficult cases. Even Rowan, the head of her family, took notice and brought her into his inner circle. Atticus had gone with her at one point.
After hanging up with her, Atticus stared at the black screen of his phone for a while. A sly, unreadable smile tugged at his lips.
He had waited too long for this night. He wouldn’t let Phoenix—or anyone—get in the way.
“Clarissa,” he murmured under his breath, “I’m looking forward to tonight.”
Back at the office, Clarissa had barely put down her phone when another call came through.
“Clarissa, there’s a problem with the stylist. The model’s about to walk the runway—what should we do?”
Clarissa blinked, momentarily thrown. Then she rose quickly. “I’ll come take a look right away. Can you collect my dress for me?”
“Of course. Don’t worry.”