Chapter115 – You’re lying
She felt her blood rushing faster, and then—a sudden heat surged through her lower abdomen.
Clarissa froze. Oh no...
She bolted upright and rushed to the bathroom, heart pounding, but it was already too late.
Her gaze landed on the large crimson stain blooming across the pale bedsheet. A wave of frustration washed over her.
My life is such a mess...
With a heavy sigh, she stripped the bed, replacing the sheets and duvet cover with practiced hands. When she began changing out of her clothes, she winced. There was a strange soreness between her thighs.
She paused, glanced down—and noticed a small patch of broken skin along the inner curve of her leg.
When did that happen...?
She frowned, trying to remember. Maybe it was the new jeans—too stiff, too tight? The skin on this body was sensitive; she was always getting little bruises or scratches without knowing the cause. She decided not to dwell on it.
After tossing the stained bedding into the washing machine, she started on the clothes by hand.
She'd just begun when a voice behind her made her jump.
"What are you doing, sister?"
Startled, Clarissa turned too quickly. The wet clothes slipped from her hands and fell to the floor.
Atticus's eyes flicked down—straight to the creamy-white dress from yesterday, the bloodstain stark and unmistakable.
Before she could react, he bent and picked it up.
“Give it back!” Clarissa lunged toward him.
But he stepped away, easily avoiding her.
Lifting the dress above his head, he used his height to his advantage. Clarissa reached up, frustrated, her cheeks flushing red with embarrassment.
“Atticus, give it back!” she demanded, her voice high and flustered.
He only smiled. “Let me wash it. You shouldn’t be touching cold water right now.”
“No! I’ll wash it with hot water!”
Atticus chuckled, amused. “Sister, you must be confused. You can’t wash bloodstains with hot water—unless you’re planning to ruin this dress completely.”
Clarissa’s face fell. She knew he was right.
Atticus expected her to keep arguing—he was looking forward to teasing her a little more, seeing that shy, flustered look. But surprisingly, she calmed down.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, watching her carefully.
Clarissa inhaled slowly. “Just throw everything in the basket away. I won’t be wearing any of it again.”
And with that, she brushed past him and left the bathroom.
Atticus stared after her, his eyes darkening slightly.
He dropped the dress and quickly followed her.
He saw her disappear into her room, and followed without hesitation. “Sister, are you mad at me?”
“No,” she said flatly.
“You’re lying,” he replied, his tone softer now.
Clarissa turned to look at him and hesitated—he looked so hurt.
“Atticus…”
“I didn’t mean anything by it.” His voice was low, his gaze cast downward with a look of quiet guilt. “It’s okay if you’re angry. I deserve it… for what I did before. You can hit me, yell at me, whatever makes you feel better. But when I saw you curled up on the sofa yesterday, looking so small and fragile... I just wanted to help.”
“Atticus…” Her cold expression began to thaw, and she bit her lip. “I’m not mad at you. I’m not blaming you either.”
“Then why throw away the clothes I washed? Is it because you just… don’t want me close to you anymore?” he asked softly. “Do you really dislike me that much?”
“No—” Clarissa’s face heated. “It’s not that. It’s just that we shouldn’t be that close. That’s…”
“That’s the kind of closeness only lovers should share, right?” he interrupted, his voice slow and deliberate.
Clarissa’s heart skipped. She looked up—and saw him.
Atticus stood there, tall and gorgeous, his striking features laced with something dangerous, something intoxicating. A devil’s charm in a sculpted face.
Outside, he looked like temptation incarnate. Inside, he was fire and darkness—Satan with a kiss that could destroy you.
And in that moment, as he stepped toward her, eyes blazing, Clarissa felt her defenses crumbling.
He walked slowly, each step sending tremors through her chest.
“Clarissa,” he murmured, voice low and magnetic, “I want to do more for you. Take better care of you. Just… let me. Please.”
He leaned in, his eyes dropping to her lips.
His breath mingled with hers. It carried that unique scent—musk and sandalwood—masculine, rich, and dangerously addictive. It wrapped around her senses like a spell.
Her pulse thundered in her ears. She could feel her body leaning into his without even realizing it.
Their lips were about to meet when—suddenly—Clarissa snapped back.
She recoiled as if burned, pushing him away and stumbling back several steps.
Clarissa was breathing hard, her body trembling slightly. I almost gave in... to his face? What’s wrong with me?
Her mind spun. Her heartbeat was out of control. The heat from before hadn’t faded—it had only grown stronger.
“Clarissa…”
“Get out!” she blurted, cutting him off.
She sucked in a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “Atticus, just… leave. And from now on, don’t enter my room without my permission.”
He held her gaze for a long moment, lips pressed into a thin line. Then, without another word, he turned and walked out.
After what happened, things between them grew tense again.
Clarissa still came out for meals, still made conversation—but Atticus could feel it. She was pulling away, hiding behind a shell.
He knew: Clarissa felt something for him. She just wasn’t ready to admit it.
While he was still figuring out how to break through her defenses, Phoenix returned.
That day, Atticus was at school. Phoenix showed up unannounced and asked Clarissa to come away with her for a short vacation.
Clarissa didn't hesitate. She felt like if she stayed in that apartment any longer, she'd fall apart.
She left a short note for Atticus and left with Phoenix without looking back.
During her time away, Atticus never showed up—which gave Clarissa a strange sense of relief.
Phoenix took her to a private holiday estate, a quiet haven filled with luxuries and distractions. It was the first time in a long while that Clarissa let herself have fun, without thinking too hard or feeling too much.
That night, Phoenix suggested they visit the hot spring resort on the estate grounds.
She booked out the women’s section entirely, dismissing all staff so it was just the two of them.
It was the first time they’d ever bathed together—and the first time Clarissa had ever seen Phoenix without her signature compression top.
She blinked, surprised. “Whoa… been binding like that every day?”
Phoenix grinned and shrugged. “You get used to it. Honestly, sometimes they’re in the way. Easier to wrap them up.”
Then, without warning, she reached out, grabbed Clarissa’s hand, and tugged her toward the hot spring. “Come on, let’s go.”
“Wait—wait, I haven’t changed into anything yet—”
“Why change? We’re going in naked..”
With a wicked grin, Phoenix scooped Clarissa into her arms and jumped into the water.
Clarissa shrieked as the warm spring water engulfed her, the splash echoing through the open-air bath.
They both burst into laughter, the pool was serene, the air perfumed with spring. The only sounds were birdsong, the rustle of leaves, and the soft ripple of water.
Alone together, surrounded by nature, Clarissa finally relaxed. The heat seeped into her skin, her muscles unwound, and her mind quieted.
Phoenix turned to glance at her, her gaze shadowed with something unreadable.
She pushed her damp bangs back with one hand, then reached for a small tray floating nearby. On it sat a delicate glass of soft pink liquor.
“Here,” she said, handing it over. “Try the sakura wine. It’s a specialty here.”
Clarissa took it with a curious smile and sipped.
The flavor was smooth, sweet, and fragrant—like spring itself, bottled. “Mmm. That’s really good.”