Chapter101 – Jealousy
The bathroom was filled with steam, the water in the tub tinted a delicate shade of blue. Spheres of essential oils bobbed gently on the surface, their fragrance clinging to the air, mingling with the soothing scent of lavender bath salts. A neat pile of clothes had been placed beside the tub—fresh, soft, and folded with care.
Even the underwear was there.
Clarissa paused, her gaze lingering on the delicate lace of her undergarments. An odd ripple of discomfort stirred in her stomach. The thought of Atticus—his hands on those intimate pieces—made her skin prickle.
She exhaled slowly and pushed the thought aside. Forget it. He was eighteen now. A man. Maybe it was time to start letting go.
She slipped out of her clothes and sank into the warm bath. The heat wrapped around her body like a silken glove, washing away the ache of the evening. Her muscles relaxed. Her mind tried to.
Later, wrapped in a towel, Clarissa gathered her worn clothes to toss into the washing machine—only to realize the laundry basket was empty.
Everything was gone. Even her underwear. She stood there for a moment, uncertain. Then she pulled open the bathroom door.
Atticus was standing right outside.
His tall frame was cast in shadow, but his expression was unreadable. He turned his head slowly toward her.
"Atticus..."
"Something wrong, sis?" His tone was warm, casual. "Was the water too hot?"
"No... No, it was fine." She hesitated, brushing damp hair away from her cheek. “Just… the clothes I wore yesterday—did you see them?”
Atticus tilted his head slightly, then gave a slow nod. "Oh, those? Yeah, I saw them when I got back earlier. Thought I’d help out and wash them. They’re already dry now. Did you want to wear them again?"
Clarissa’s heart beat a little faster. The idea of him touching those clothes—folding them, maybe even holding them up to inspect—sent a hot flush to her face.
She tried to mask her discomfort.
"No... it’s fine," she said quickly, then added gently, "But Atticus, in the future, don’t touch my clothes, alright? I can handle my own laundry."
Atticus’s expression shifted—just slightly. His eyes dimmed with something unspoken, and a trace of hurt flickered through them.
"You’re uphappy," he said quietly. "I haven’t been back in three months, and I just wanted to help. Did I do something wrong?"
Clarissa’s irritation evaporated. Her heart softened instantly.
"No," she said quickly, stepping closer. “I’m not mad at you. Really. Today’s your birthday. Come on, I’ll get you some cake.”
She turned and went to the kitchen, trying to shake off the strange feeling. She pulled a small cake from the fridge—his favorite flavor, from his favorite brand. She smiled as she set it down.
"So? Where were you headed today to celebrate?"
"Nowhere." Atticus came up beside her. "I said no to everyone else. I only want to spend today with you."
Clarissa blinked, a little caught off guard. But she smiled anyway. “That’s sweet.”
Atticus closed his eyes under the flickering candlelight and made a wish in a heartbeat, blowing the flame out with a soft breath.
"You always wish so fast."
"That’s because I only have one wish," he murmured. He didn’t elaborate.
Clarissa didn’t press. She disappeared briefly into her room and came back with an envelope.
"Here. Your birthday gift." She handed it to him. “Sign it.”
Atticus opened it and scanned the contents. His eyes stilled. A property deed. A new apartment. In S City. Close to campus. Valued in the tens of millions.
Then, he looked up slowly. "What does this mean?" His voice was low. Tense. "You want me to move out?"
Clarissa didn’t notice the way his fingers curled around the edge of the table, or how tightly he was clenching his jaw.
"I just think it’s time,” she explained gently. “You’re not a child anymore. You deserve your own space. It’s close to school, and you can visit anytime you want. It’s a coming-of-age gift, Atticus.”
He repeated the words quietly, almost mockingly. "Coming-of-age gift." Then he smiled—but it didn’t reach his eyes. He pushed the document back across the table. "I don’t want it."
"Atticus?" She was confused now, unsettled.
"Do you want to give me space… or do you just not want me around to interrupt your time with other men?"
Clarissa’s face went pale. "What are you saying?"
"You want to fall in love, right?" His eyes darkened. "That’s why you’re trying to get rid of me. You said space, but what you meant was distance. You don’t want me in the way."
“That’s not true!” Clarissa’s voice trembled. Her breath caught. “You saw earlier…? But William and I—it’s not what you think. We’re not—”
"Not what I think?" he interrupted, eyes blazing. "You let him touch you. You let him kiss you. You accepted him. Isn’t that enough?"
He leaned in, his voice like ice. "You’re lonely, right? That’s why you’re letting strange men into your life."
“Atticus!” Clarissa snapped, finally losing control. “How can you talk like that?”
The living room was plunged into an unsettling quiet. The once harmonious and warm mood was now chilled.
Clarissa had a headache and kept rubbing her temples. "It's your birthday today. We can discuss moving afterwards. Since you don't like this gift, you can always say something else. I will definitely give it to you as long as I can."
"No matter what you desire, you can get it from me, dear sister?"
"Actually, but you can't cause trouble afterwards upon asking for the gift, and you can no longer utter these nonsense words."
Atticus's lips curled up once more instantly. He stared at her directly in his eyes, which were deep and full of naked flames.
His lip curled into a slight smile, and he spoke very quietly, saying, "You."
Clarissa suspected that she must have heard incorrectly, and could not help glancing at Atticus, but was met with his searing stare. Clarissa's heart froze, "What... did you just say?"
"I want you."
Clarissa's dainty eyebrows curled into a knot at this moment, and she stood up involuntarily. "Atticus, do not joke about that to me. I'm actually going to get mad."
"Joke?" His lip curled. "Do you think I'm joking, sister? Then I repeat it seriously."
He spoke, stood up very slowly, and walked to where Clarissa was standing. "Ever since I was small, I wished for one thing, and tonight is no different — that is you. I desire you, Clarissa. I desire you to be mine. Sister, why not gift me yourself as a coming of age?"
The boy took steps closer, inch by inch, and Clarissa's face instantly grew deathly pale. But at once, she was pushed into the corner by him, and there was no escape.
"Do not come closer!" Clarissa extended her hand to push him, but he quickly reached out and grabbed her wrist.
She struggled as though burned, "Don't touch me! Let me go! I'm your sister!"
But her comparative weakness was nothing to Atticus at this time. He absorbed every reaction of hers, and the cloudiness in his eyes grew denser still. One hand held her back while the other stroked her face.
"Clarissa, I never considered you as a sister of mine. Do you know what I plan to do?"
As he spoke, he could no longer hold back and reached over to grab hold of the crimson lips he'd been daydreaming about day and night.
Clarissa's eyes grew wide, and she was trapped between the wall and his dense physique.
She struggled frantically when she regained her senses.