Chapter117 – This is a dream
“Exhausted lately?” Clarissa asked, amused.
“Beyond exhausted—completely drained,” Phoenix sighed as she sat up and stretched, her robe slipping off one shoulder. “There’s been this informant—we only know him as ‘X’—leaking information about an international criminal gang. I’ve been on standby for nearly two months.”
“Did you get him?”
Phoenix shook her head, a dangerous glint flashing in her eyes. “Close. But every damn time, he slips through my fingers.”
She clenched her jaw. “No matter what it takes, I will catch him.”
“You will,” Clarissa said reassuringly. “Now come on, we’ve got to get moving before we’re late.”
They washed up quickly and descended the mountain hand-in-hand, the sun rising gently behind them, casting a warm golden light on their path.
......
Back home, Clarissa’s heart sank the moment she stepped through the door. The peace she’d just found unraveled all at once.
It was about the time school let out—and the thought of seeing Atticus again sent a wave of anxiety rushing through her chest.
She hadn’t figured out how to face him yet. Didn’t even know what she’d say if he appeared in front of her.
Letting out a long sigh, she hesitated… then reached out and pushed the door open.
The soft click of the lock echoed in her chest. Her eyes swept the room—and to her relief, Atticus was nowhere to be seen.
Too tired to think straight and starving from the trip, she ordered some food and retreated to her room after eating, hoping for a little rest.
Meanwhile, across town, Atticus was seated in a dim, neon-lit bar.
Ronan laughed with two girls clinging to him, one on each side. Atticus simply downed another shot in silence, the glass clinking softly as he set it down.
Ronan noticed and gave him a side glance. “Seriously? You’ve been drinking every day for the past week. She’s been gone all this time, and you still haven’t gone after her?”
“She’s with my master,” Atticus replied coolly. “She doesn’t let other men get close. It’s better this way—she needs time to cool off.”
Ronan raised a brow. “What if she cools off too much? Don’t say I didn’t warn you, man. A woman like her? She’s a magnet. Someone else is gonna scoop her up.”
Atticus’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smirk. She won’t forget me that easily. Whether she’s angry or hurt, I know I’m on her mind.
He glanced down at his empty glass. “Yeah… I think it’s time.”
He raised a hand and signaled the bartender. “Five vodkas.”
Ronan stared at him, dumbfounded. “Five? Are you out of your damn mind?”
Atticus flashed a wicked grin. “It’s faster this way.”
Then, without hesitation, he tipped the first shot back—then the second, the third—downing them one after another as people nearby stared in disbelief.
Clarissa had barely fallen asleep when the pressure in her bladder woke her. Still half-dazed, she sat up, preparing to head to the bathroom—when suddenly, someone began pounding on her door.
Along with it came a familiar voice shouting: “Sis… I’m sorry, okay? Please open the door…”
Clarissa blinked in disbelief. Then came the sound of the doorbell—again and again. She rushed out to the entryway, and pulled the door open.
Outside, she saw a neighbor and—on the ground—Atticus, slumped against the wall with his head down, cheeks flushed red and reeking of alcohol.
“What’s going on here?”
An older woman stepped forward, frowning. “What’s going on? He’s been knocking, crying, looking so pitiful. Whatever he did, at least let him in. Give him a chance.”
Clarissa opened her mouth to explain, but realized there was no point. Instead, she simply bowed her head and murmured, “You’re right. It won’t happen again.”
Her gaze dropped to Atticus, and her eyes narrowed. His face was flushed, his eyes glassy, and the smell of booze clung to him like smoke.
So this was where he’d been—out drinking himself stupid.
She stomped forward, furious. “You little brat! Come home like this? Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”
She bent down, grabbing his arm. “Get up! Come inside before you embarrass me even more.”
Atticus raised his head slowly, blinking those dangerously beautiful eyes up at her, dazed and uncertain. “…Sis?”
“Still remember I’m your sister? Sitting outside, yelling and crying like a lunatic!”
He lowered his head again, mumbling like a kicked puppy, “I couldn’t get in. You changed the lock. You don’t want me anymore… you’re trying to get rid of me…”
Clarissa stood frozen, exasperated. Who was the one who installed that fingerprint lock last week?
No matter how angry she was, looking at him like this—wobbling, drunk, pitiful—her heart softened.
She sighed, crouching down. “Come on. Let’s go inside first.”
She tried to pull him up, using all her strength—but he was dead weight, and she could barely move him.
Atticus suddenly looked up, his expression dazed and uncertain. “Clarissa… is it really you? Am I dreaming? You… you don’t want me anymore, do you?”
Before she could answer, he pulled her into a tight embrace, arms trembling around her as he buried his face in her neck.
“Clarissa… Clarissa… I thought I’d lost you forever. I really thought you'd never speak to me again… This has to be a dream.”
His body radiated heat, his breath fanning against her skin in shallow bursts. He smelled of alcohol and something unmistakably male—heady and intoxicating.
Clarissa's face flushed, heart pounding. “Atticus, don’t… let go, you’re drunk.”
She tried to push him away, but then—she froze. Hot liquid dripped against her neck, trailing slowly down her collarbone.
Atticus’s voice cracked against her ear. “You must hate me… that’s why you locked me out. You wouldn’t even look at me…”
“Atticus,” she whispered gently, “you’ve had too much. Let’s go inside, okay?”
The tears kept falling, burning a hot path along her skin. They soaked into her like a fever. Something in her chest twisted painfully.
Trying to stay calm, she coaxed him with soft words. “Come on, be good. I’ll make you some hangover soup, alright?”
Atticus shivered, lifting his head slowly. His gaze was intense, unfocused, but locked onto hers.
“Clarissa… you’re so gentle,” he murmured. “I must be dreaming. Clarissa would never talk to me like this…”
Clarissa opened her mouth to respond, but he didn’t wait.
Without warning, he pulled her inside. The door slammed behind them. And in an instant, she was pinned between the door and the heat of his body.
“Atticus—” she gasped, startled.
He looked down at her, tears still clinging to the corners of his eyes, but his expression had changed—gone was the broken boy from a moment ago. His gaze now was dark, ravenous, like a predator in the night.
Clarissa’s pulse jumped. She moved to step back, but he caught her wrist and pinned it above her head.
“A-Atticus, what are you doing…?” she asked, her voice trembling.
He smirked—a slow, wicked curve of his lips that sent shivers down her spine.
“If this is a dream,” he said hoarsely, “then I’m going to do exactly what I want most.”
And then—he kissed her. Hard.
Clarissa’s eyes widened in shock.
His lips crashed into hers, unpracticed and fierce, their teeth even clashing in the heat of it. But he was hungry—desperate—and quick to learn. Within moments, the kiss deepened, his scent wrapping around her like smoke and heat, making her legs weak.
She tried to resist, but her body betrayed her, trembling against him. Her mind swam in a haze of want and confusion.
Still—she came to her senses.
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