Chapter102 – Clarissa, Clarissa…
Atticus, who at last experienced what he wished day and night, was mad, and his logic was burning like fire.
Watching her struggling and wrenching in his arms, he merely pinned her down using one leg, kept her hands in his other hand and lifted them up above her head, attempting to invade once more.
"Clarissa, Clarissa..."
Clarissa nearly lost her sanity being kissed by the boy she had raised since childhood. In haste, she slightly parted her lips and bit him hard when his tongue invaded her mouth.
The scent of blood filled both of them, but Atticus did not desist. On the contrary, he used this moment to plunder her more wantonly.
How long it took was unknown. When Clarissa felt she was about to suffocate, he finally let her go.
They were both panting, blood at the corners of their mouths — lewd and inviting.
His breathing stopped, and he grew even more excited. Then he picked up Clarissa and hurried to the sofa.
Realizing what he was about to do, Clarissa’s face turned as white as snow. Once her body was laid on the sofa, without hesitation, she slapped him.
A snapping sound echoed through the living room. Atticus’s face flushed red, and Clarissa’s hand went numb from the force.
Atticus stood still, gazing down at her, his eyes dark and deep. "Are you that unwilling to let me touch you?"
"Shut up! You beast! You bastard! I'm your sister! Are you insane? Do you know what you're doing!"
Clarissa had never screamed at anyone with such fury and despair before.
Anger and sorrow crashed over Clarissa like a wave, and tears spilled uncontrollably down her cheeks.
Seeing her like this, something inside Atticus shattered—like a blade had carved into his chest, twisting and tearing with every heartbeat. The wildness in his eyes slowly began to fade.
He reached out, dazed, brushing his thumb gently across her swollen lips. His voice, low and hoarse, trembled with regret.
“I’m sorry. I’ve wanted you for so long... I lost control for a moment. Did I scare you?”
His eyes searched hers, desperate. “What’s so good about William? What does he have that I don’t? You let other men into your heart, but not me? I grew up with you—I know you better than anyone. Don’t you even wonder what it would be like... to taste me?”
He moved closer, and in the flickering candlelight, his face—handsome and dangerous—seemed almost unreal. The single red teardrop mole beneath his eye glinted like temptation incarnate, like a lure into something wicked and bottomless.
“Clarissa... I think about you every night. For years now. I dream of you—I wake up aching for you…”
“Stop! Don’t touch me!” Clarissa backed away, trembling now. Her skin broke out in goosebumps the moment he reached for her.
She smacked his hand away with a sharp slap, her voice raw. “Get out! Just get out! I’ll pretend I never raised you—leave!”
Atticus’s expression darkened, his eyes turning stormy and unreadable. The sudden shift made her heart pound harder.
She shrank back instinctively, realizing then—if he really wanted to force himself on her, she wouldn’t be able to stop him.
Her mind reeled, her thoughts disintegrating into noise, panic, and heartbreak.
Atticus… wanted her. How had things gone so horribly wrong?
She bit her lip until it turned white, curling into herself as despair crept in. “You bastard...” she choked out. “I brought you in. I gave you everything. And this is how you repay me?”
“I believed in you. I thought I could change you. I really thought I had. But this? This is sick, Atticus.”
She could hardly breathe. Shame, anger, sorrow—all of it welled up inside her like a storm, shaking her from the inside out.
Seeing her fall apart like that, Atticus finally froze. His chest rose and fell in silence. Cold light flickered in his gaze as he straightened and took a step back, finally giving her space.
“…Okay. I’ll go.”
He raised a hand, hesitating, then gently wiped a tear from her cheek.
“I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I lost control, and that’s on me. But I’m not sorry for how I feel. I meant every word. I love you, Clarissa. I love you enough to burn for it.”
Even if she never forgave him—he would never take it back.
Clarissa slapped his hand away again, harder this time. Her voice cracked as she shouted, “Just leave! I don’t ever want to see you again!”
Atticus stood still for a moment. Then, without another word, he picked up his coat from the couch.
“I made sweet soup for you,” he said quietly, nodding toward the kitchen. “It’s on the stove. Don’t forget to have some…”
“GET OUT!”
Then, slowly, he walked out.
.....
After Atticus walked out and shut the door behind him, Clarissa didn’t hesitate. She bolted the door and threw on the extra security latch. Then she stormed into the kitchen, yanked the pot of sweet soup off the stove, and dumped it straight into the trash.
The sound of the pot hitting the counter echoed through the empty apartment, but the silence afterward was louder.
Her legs gave out beneath her. She collapsed to the floor, curling up on the cold tiles, her body shaking as hot tears streamed down her cheeks. She cried until she was hollow—until there was nothing left but the dull ache of betrayal.
When her tears finally dried and her breathing steadied, she forced herself upright, picked up her phone, and made a call to a 24-hour locksmith. She had the door locks changed immediately—every code, every fingerprint erased.
By the time it was done, morning light was spilling through the windows.
Clarissa hadn’t slept a wink. She washed up, covered the dark circles under her eyes with heavy makeup, tied her hair into a sleek knot, and headed straight for the office.
As she walked in, the employees greeted her cheerfully. She responded politely, composed and distant, as if nothing had happened.
Her assistant caught up with her, handing her a document. “Clarissa, there’s a problem with that batch of goods we ordered. Should I send someone to look into it?”
“I’ll go myself.”
“You?” The assistant blinked. “There’s really no need for you to handle this personally—”
“I said I’ll go,” Clarissa interrupted calmly. “Three days should be enough, right?”
“Y-Yes, of course. I’ll book the ticket now.”
She buried herself in work during the next three days—closed all her social media accounts, shut off her personal phone, and ignored every call that came through. Only her work line remained active.
It wasn’t until she returned from the business trip that she finally turned her personal phone back on.
And then came the barrage.
Hundreds of notifications lit up the screen.
Hundreds of missed calls. Dozens of voicemails. Message after message.
She scrolled quickly. Almost all of them were from one name: Atticus.
> “Clarissa, please don’t do this to your health. Rest, okay?”
> “I miss you so much. Just give me a sign you’re okay.”
> “Don’t ignore me... please.”
> “I was wrong. I’m sorry. Don’t shut me out.”
> “Sister...”
Clarissa read only a handful before her stomach turned. Without another thought, she selected them all—and deleted them.
Then she blocked his number.
Her hands stopped shaking once it was done. Only then did she allow herself to check the other messages.
The first one was from William.
> “I asked at the office and found out you were on a trip. Hope everything’s going smoothly. Take care.”