Chapter109 – Three rules
His face lit up instantly. He untied his apron and sat across from her, eager, like a boy who had just been forgiven.
Clarissa glanced at him—he still looked pale. Not fully recovered yet.
“You should eat more,” she said, softer now. “You got sick.”
“Okay! Thanks for worrying, sister.”
He devoured every bite she served him, and then began peeling shrimp for her, dipping each one in sauce before laying it carefully on her plate.
He used to do this all the time.
Atticus hadn’t fallen ill once since he was twelve. Back when Clementine passed away, Clarissa had been the fragile one. Grieving, withdrawn, constantly catching colds. Atticus had taken care of her through it all.
She barely ate in those days, and he’d taught himself how to cook just to tempt her appetite. He wasn’t even a teenager yet.
One night, when she woke up for water, she found him hunched over the kitchen counter, reading a medical book while making medicinal food for her fever.
She had turned away and cried silently in her room.
That had been the turning point—the moment she decided to get stronger for herself, and for him.
Now, the same gestures made her feel….
When had his love changed? Was it recent? Or had it always been there, simmering under the surface?
She stared at the shrimp in front of her, lost in thought.
“What are you thinking about?” Atticus asked, noticing her silence.
Clarissa didn’t answer right away.
He narrowed his eyes slightly, though the smile stayed on his lips. Is she planning how to throw me out again?
He masked his thoughts with warmth. “Are the shrimp not fresh? I was careful. Picked them out one by one—they were all alive.”
Clarissa put down her chopsticks and looked at him across the table. Her voice was softer now, but firm. “Atticus. Don’t do this again.”
“Are you still mad about last time?” His tone darkened slightly. “I only lost control because I saw you walking with another man. I got jealous. I won’t let that happen again, I promise.”
Next time, I’ll plan better. Be patient. Be smart.
Clarissa took a long breath and looked straight at Atticus. “I mean the shrimp peeling, the fruit cutting, running the bathwater... all of it. Just don’t. And since you’re already here, fine—pack up your things and—”
“No.”
Atticus cut her off before she could finish.
“I’m not moving out! This is my home too—why the hell should I leave?”
His voice rose with sudden intensity, and it startled Clarissa.
Before she could react, Atticus was on his feet. He crossed the room in a few swift steps and dropped to a squat in front of her.
“Atticus—” Clarissa’s instincts screamed at her to back away.
He gently rested his palms on her knees—warm, tentative, almost reverent—and leaned in, his head bowed. His fingers rubbed small, pleading circles against the fabric of her pants.
It was an intimate gesture. Not aggressive…
Clarissa didn’t recoil. Her breath hitched, but her body didn’t move.
“Sister,” he said, his voice soft and trembling, “please… don’t push me away. You’re all I have left in this world…”
Clarissa’s gaze dropped to the top of his head—thick black hair, slightly tousled. Just under the fringe, she could see the angle of his jaw, his delicate yet masculine features. The curve of his nose, the shadow of a teardrop mole beneath one eye.
He was beautiful. She’d always thought they’d walk side by side as siblings—eventually finding their own paths, marrying, starting separate lives, but always connected. Sunday dinners, shared memories, a quiet, familial kind of love.
She had imagined many futures—but never this.
She hadn’t expected the boy who grew up beside her to one day want her as his woman. Hadn’t expected him to pin her to the couch in a fevered kiss, trembling with desire.
Her heart twisted in chaos.
Atticus was flawless—physically, emotionally devoted. Any woman would be lucky to have him. So why her?
“It’s okay if you don’t love me,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “Hurt me if you want. Say whatever you need. Just… don’t make me leave. Let me stay near you. That’s enough for me.”
“Atticus…” she whispered. He looked up, and for a moment, he resembled a wounded hound—big, proud, but utterly desperate for her affection.
Clarissa sighed. Finally, she reached out and ran her fingers lightly through his hair. “Alright. You can stay—for now. I won’t kick you out.”
His eyes immediately lit up, brilliant with relief. “Sister!”
“But don’t celebrate yet.” She pulled her hand back and straightened her expression. “If you’re going to stay, there are three rules.”
Atticus sat back on his heels, nodding quickly. This was her olive branch, and he’d take it—even if he had to play the long game.
“Whatever you say. I’ll agree to anything—as long as I can stay.”
“Good. First—don’t go into my bedroom without my permission. Don’t touch my things, especially my clothes. Ever.”
“Got it,” he said easily, though a dark gleam flickered in his eyes. Eventually, she’ll invite me in herself.
“Second—keep your distance. No hand-holding, no hugging, and absolutely no kissing. If you can’t handle that, move out now.”
Atticus hesitated—but only for a second. Then he nodded. “Okay.” Sooner or later, she’ll let me touch her again. I can wait.
Clarissa felt some of the tension leave her shoulders. She went on.
“Third—and this one is important—you will call me sister. No more ‘Clarissa.’ Ever.”
That one hit harder than the rest. Atticus frowned deeply, lips parting as if he wanted to protest but couldn’t find the words.
Clarissa raised a brow. “Is that one really so difficult?”
“…Can I not agree to that one?”
“No.”
“…Then I’ll do my best to remember. In front of others.”
“You—!” Her tone spiked with frustration. But then she let out a sharp breath, exasperated. “Fine. Call me whatever you want. But the first two rules are non-negotiable.”
Atticus’s lips curved into a quiet, content smile. “Deal. I promise.”
He noticed her bowl was empty and got to his feet. “Let me get you another helping.”
Clarissa was about to object, but truthfully, she *was* still hungry. She nodded.
Atticus brought the new bowl and, before she could protest, gently transferred the shrimp from the platter into her dish.
She opened her mouth to say something—but then he looked at her again, his voice low and achingly sincere.
“Sister, I just want to take care of you. Love you the way you deserve. Please… don’t push me away.”
Clarissa’s throat tightened. The rejection she’d prepared caught somewhere between her chest and her lips. His gaze was too raw, too intense—like he meant every word with his whole soul.
So she said nothing and accepted the bowl and ate in silence.
Atticus smiled again, slow and satisfied.
After dinner, he quietly cleaned up the dishes. Clarissa rose to help, but her phone buzzed on the coffee table, drawing her attention.
It was William.
They hadn’t spoken much lately. He’d been busy—and she hadn’t wanted to disturb him.
Her fingers hovered over the screen for a second before she answered. “Hello?”
“Clarissa,” his deep, steady voice came through. “I have to leave on a business trip. About two weeks.”
“Because of what happened last time?” she asked, brows furrowing.
“Yeah. It’s nothing I can’t handle—it’ll just take time.”
“Alright. Be careful,” she said softly.
There was a brief pause, then his voice dropped to something more intimate. “Clarissa… when I come back in two weeks, can you give me an answer?”
Her heart skipped. She froze, standing motionless in the living room, phone pressed to her ear, mind spinning.
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