Chapter122 – Step by step
Atticus leaned in, voice almost wicked with amusement. “And now I’m punishing you for disobeying me. If you let another man near you again… this won’t be the only thing I’ll do to you.”
His audacious words made Clarissa’s already flushed face flare even redder. She pushed at his chest with both hands.
“You’re being impossible… you jerk!”
But her fists were soft, and instead of pushing him away, he caught her wrists and held them firmly.
“You—” she gasped, flustered, trying to pull her hands free. But Atticus didn’t let go. He kissed her again—deeper this time.
Clarissa’s thoughts evaporated. She’d always been composed, logical, coolheaded. But right now, it felt like her brain was filled with molten fire, burning through every ounce of self-control.
When he finally let her go, both of them were panting, hearts pounding wildly.
Atticus stared at her, eyes burning with dark intensity. A muscle in his jaw ticked as he forced himself to breathe.
Then, without a word, he scooped her into his arms again and gently settled her into the passenger seat. He fastened her seatbelt, closed the door, and climbed behind the wheel.
Clarissa drifted off halfway home, her breathing even and quiet.
Once they arrived, Atticus carried her upstairs and laid her on the bed with care. His fingers moved to unbutton her coat.
She wore a crisp beige suit over a pale brown blouse. Her skirt was dark and form-fitting, hugging the gentle curves of her hips. Pale gray stockings lined her long, elegant legs, disappearing into square-toed heels.
His fingers lingered. His gaze darkened—but he pulled himself back.
Step by step, he told himself.
He removed only her coat and shoes. Then he went about tending to her quietly, gently.
.....
The next morning, Clarissa woke slowly. It was already past ten.
Thanks to the sobering soup Atticus had coaxed into her the night before, her head didn’t hurt too much—just a little foggy. Sunlight streamed through the curtains of her bedroom, casting a soft golden glow across the bed.
She blinked, staring at the ceiling. Then she turned her head, taking in her familiar surroundings.
For a moment, her mind was blank. Then it all came flooding back. The drinking. Daphne. Dorian. The fight…
Atticus. And then…
Her expression shifted in an instant. First pale, then scarlet. Then pale again. Then scarlet—darker than before.
Her chest rose and fell quickly. Her fingertips trembled slightly, and she clenched them into fists, trying to still the shaking.
Panicked, she yanked back the covers and looked down at herself. Still dressed. Only her coat and shoes were gone.
She released a slow breath, heart finally calming. But her cheeks—those still burned.
Clarissa got up in a rush, called in to take the day off, then headed straight for the shower.
The moment she opened the door, a delicious aroma wrapped around her like a lover’s embrace.
Atticus stood by the dining table, smiling. “You must be starving. Come eat.”
Clarissa hesitated for a heartbeat, she walked over, trying to act composed.
Atticus’s gaze flicked over her appearance—neatly dressed, subtle makeup. “Heading out?”
She paused. “Let’s eat first.” But after only half a bowl of rice, she stopped.
Atticus noticed right away. He lowered his utensils, eyes narrowing slightly. “What’s wrong?”
Clarissa’s face tensed. “How could you hit Dorian last night? Do you even know who he is?”
That caught Atticus off guard. He thought she'd wake up fuming about the kiss.
Amused, he hid a smile. “He tried to manhandle you. And didn’t you say you wanted to beat him up?”
“I did… but—” Clarissa cut herself off, biting her lip.
“Wanting to and actually doing it are two different things,” she said after a moment. “You’ll be in serious trouble.”
She let out a deep breath. “Finish your food. We’re going to the hospital to see him. You should apologize.”
With Dorian’s temper and influence, this wasn’t going to end cleanly unless they diffused it early.
Atticus tilted his head and smiled slowly. “Clarissa… are you worried about me?”
He leaned in just a little, voice silkier now. “If I’m going to the hospital to apologize, tell me… in what capacity should I be standing beside you? Hm?”
Clarissa stiffened. “Why does that matter? Obviously—as your older sister.”
Atticus’s eyes narrowed. “Sister?”
Her heart skipped a beat at his look. She turned away quickly. “Stop playing around, Atticus. This is serious. Just… do what I say this time, okay?”
“Fine. Apologizing to Dorian feels like a waste of a perfectly good morning, but if my sister insists…” He stood and walked toward her, a glint in his eyes. “But I want a reward first.”
Before she could respond, he tilted her chin up and kissed her—softly.
Clarissa’s face went crimson. She shoved him. “You!”
Atticus just laughed, thoroughly pleased with himself. “I’m going to change.”
Before she could yell at him again, he vanished into the bedroom.
......
They arrived at the hospital together, Clarissa pushed open the door to Dorian’s private ward.
Dorian sat up in bed, both arms wrapped in thick white casts. Beside him, Lyra was feeding him soup. She jerked in surprise when the door opened, spilling a bit of broth in the process.
“I’ll get another bowl—” she stammered.
“No need,” Dorian cut in, eyes locked on Clarissa and the man beside her.
His face darkened. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Atticus smiled breezily. “Mr. Dorian, you’re recovering so fast. I thought you’d still be in the ICU today.”
Clarissa elbowed him hard.
“Ow,” Atticus groaned playfully, rubbing his side. “Sister, that was cruel.”
Clarissa shot him a glare and motioned for him to hand over the things in his arms. Atticus placed the flowers and a neatly packed fruit basket on the bedside table.
Dorian glanced at the offerings with disdain, then focused on Clarissa. “Who is this guy?”
Clarissa opened her mouth. “He’s—”
“It doesn’t really matter,” Atticus interrupted, still smiling. “I’m just here to apologize.”
He looked at Dorian, eyes calm but unreadable. “I’m sorry, Mr. Dorian. I thought you were just some creep harassing Clarissa last night. I didn’t realize… you were her ex. My bad.”
Clarissa pressed her fingers to her temple, feeling the beginning of a migraine.
Dorian’s face twisted in restrained fury. This smug bastard had known exactly who he was. The way he said my bad made his blood boil.
And the worst part? He couldn’t say a damn thing.
Sensing the sudden tension in the room, Clarissa stepped forward.
“I’m sorry. That’s just how he is. I’ll cover your medical expenses, of course. Atticus,” she turned to him, voice cool, “apologize sincerely.”
Atticus' eyes glinted as he spoke with deliberate sweetness, “Don’t worry, sis. Mr. Dorian’s a generous man. He wouldn’t make a fuss over small fry like us... right, Mr. Dorian?”
He turned his gaze to Dorian with a half-smile, polished and infuriating.
Before Dorian could get a word out, Lyra’s voice cut in.
“We don’t need your damn medical expenses!”
All eyes turned to her. The quiet, trembling Lyra suddenly charged forward—and slapped Atticus across the face. “You hurt Dorian, you bastard!”
The slap rang out, sharp and unexpected. Everyone froze.
Lyra trembled with emotion, eyes wide and furious. “Not everything can be fixed with money. Get out of here! I don’t care about your damn flowers or fruit baskets!”
Atticus’s gaze snapped to her—cold and dark, like a thundercloud rolling in.
The moment Lyra met his eyes, she froze. Her body shivered involuntarily, and tears welled up.
“Atticus!” Clarissa finally snapped out of her daze, rushing to him. A faint red mark had bloomed across his cheek.